Observance
by Roy Fokker 99th
Summary: The Battle of Katina, and other battles, as observed by Bill Grey, Captain of the 104th ASTF Wing, during the War. Chapter 5 is UP! RnR if you can! After a MASSIVE delay, a new chapter is up.
1. Moves

"Think fast, act faster, this is how they lived. They were the best. You read about stuff like this in novels, really. Kids play games these days, all the same. One jet, or a pair of 'em against the enemy, impossible, improbable swarms of gunfire baring down upon them like sheets of rain, the heroes squeaking between the cracks and coming out on top. Kids play stuff like this in games. Heck, the boys in Bulldog and Husky always unwound with a game or two after a rough fight in those days. I'd give 'em trouble, all the time. Games and reality are different, I'd say! They knew, we all knew. So many kids in my teams back then." The canine on the screen coughed once, hands caressing a flight helmet that sat upon his lap. Despite obvious age impairments he suffered, Former CAG 104th Aerospace Superiority Tactical Fighter Wing, Captain William 'Bill' Grey sat straight and tall in his chair, only his voice betraying his war weary truth.

"You describe them in your recent book, _Pack of Hounds in the Sky_, but only very briefly." The Lizard sitting before Bill was accompanied by a camera, and both camera and lizard belonged to the Military History Channel, number 252 on the receiver in hundreds of thousands of homes across all of Corneria.

"Star Fox? Yeah, I flew the same skies as they did. I'd need a bigger book than that to really talk about those people!" The hound chuckled at that.

"Hinting at your next release?"

"They deserve it. Y'know, much of their handiwork made it's way into the military as parts of training manuals and such, and they are pretty infamous for some of their more notorious jobs, but in the end, most people just thought about them as mercs." Bill lowered his head slightly. "To see them fly, they…they were more than just mercs. It wasn't just the money. There's precious little actual footage of them. It's up to old dogs like us."

"I've asked this next question to every war veteran I have come across during the course of this documentary. How significant was their impact? How much did they mean to the final days of the war in 2216?"

"I'd have lost more than merely half the pups I was assigned on Katina. Star Fox were…" Bill paused. He shuddered slightly, eyes blinking rapidly. He breathed in, opened his mouth again to continue. "Fox McCloud and the people he stood with are-" Another pause, as if wanting the trembling in his voice to cease. "They aren't gods. They were people, just like you and I. They were at the right place at the right time. For that, for their skills, I can assure you, all of Lylat should be thankful."

_Observance  
A Star Fox Fanfiction_

KATINA  
GALACTIC STANDARD CALENDAR 03042216, 1420 HOURS

"Husky Flight, you have inbound, vector nine-oh, ten klicks, speed, nine hundred closure. Large incoming, not responding to IFF. Clear to interdict."

"Command, Husky Lead, we confirm contacts. Moving to intercept now. Three? Four? Lock up, combat spread, five hundred meters. Go Angels ten. Two, stick to trail." Captain Bill Grey rolled his fighter to the right. His wingman dropped back to follow him. As he straightened out from the roll over course correction, his HUD lit up with a series of markers, denoting the contacts, the location of Husky Three and Four at his flanks, a timer began ticking down, indicating when he would be within range of his targets.

"Lead, Four, new contacts, almost same bearing, same altitude."

"Command, Husky Lead, unknowns currently superior."

"Confirmed. Simulation cancelled, Husky Flight, RTB. Commander wants you in the briefing room in five."

The skies of Katina faded away, replaced by the flight hangar of New Prospect, Katina. Techs and pilots filtered about the busy area around the simulation pods. Undoing his straps, he released the canopy, climbing out of the sim pod as he'd done so before so many hundreds of times. His fellows did the same, although looking rather confused. His number Four pilot scratched at his chin with a paw.

"Some sim. Testing our ability to sound official over the comms or what?"

"You heard the lady, kids! Get up to the BR." The captain allowed a small edge into his voice, reinforcing the point, and the three subordinates made haste.

Grey was a career pilot, serving his world, his blue home in all theaters she asked of him for the last few years of his life, having decided that his time and energy would be best spent in Her defense. Her government had deemed the dry world of Katina safe for terraforming, and Her military had assigned him to Katina's New Prospect. Despite having been born in an era of peace, there were no doubts in the minds of Her defenders that they still were needed in this universe, and there was no doubt in the Captain's mind that he was needed to lead who he was assigned. Despite barely of legal drinking age, Bill's demeanor, discipline, and skill had shot him right through the O-Course at the academy, where he distinguished himself above his entire class save for a pair of other students, but unlike them, he'd stuck to the path, and was rewarded with this command. Husky and Bulldog teams, of the 104th ASTF Squadron, Wardog, the first and last line of defense for New P, the recent winners of the annual Readiness for Scramble competition among a pool of twenty hand selected squadrons, response time of two minutes, thirty seven seconds. The men that flew and the men that maintained were his, and because of what they all brought to the 104th, Katina and Her surrounding sectors were as safe as they could be in an age of hyperspace gates, cloaked plasma AI guided mines, pirate ships mounted with 'procured' Cornerian MC-12 Anti Fighter Beam turrets, among other things.

He found the Commander along the way to the Briefing Room by chance, who was toting a series of data diskettes in a case marked 'SOCOM-Venom Intelligence GSC 06012215-02102216'. The keypad, DNA lock, and retinal scanner built into the case said potentially more than what the feline in charge was about to say.

"Excellent timing. More is to be explained inside, Captain. I'll warn you in advance, the 104th and 25th are to be on Alert Five until further notice. That'll get disseminated in the Room."

"Venom, sir?"

"Not much thinking needed to guess that." The cat grimaced slightly. "After this, I'm going to have to begin lining up the ships I need to be able to move civilians out of NP in the event this goes down." He caught himself. "I'll explain inside, after you Captain."

_Civilian evacuation_ thought the Captain of the 104th.

Bill sat down at the front of the room, while the Commander unlocked the protected case. The pilots whispered among themselves as to the nature of what was to follow, but nobody was here for their lack of insight. They hadn't been on secondary alert for the last three months for no reason at all.

The Commander had finished handing out the data discs, Bill receiving the last one. The pilots quickly inserted the discs into drives on their PDA's. Information began to stream across the screens.

"To cut to the point, ladies and gentlemen, we have officially been issued a War Warning from General Pepper at GHQ, Corneria. The _CSC Lysander_ was attacked by a combined Venomian fighter-bomber wing six hours ago, in an sector of space within the demilitarized zone surrounding Venom, now designated Area 6. The _Lysander_ was conducting routine inspections of the orbital defense grids for illegal interplanetary missile platforms when she was attacked without provocation. Though she claimed another carrier's life, the _Lysander_ went down with all hands. Of her fighter squadrons, only six pilots managed to fight their way out of Area 6 to deliver the report. Simultaneously, a series of heavy jamming pulses were detected emanating from Venom, wiping out our long range surveillance capabilities of the planet until the jammers can be circumvented. As of right now, we have no idea of the size of the fleet Venom is massing, nor do we know where it is exactly. As improbable as it sounds, the Venomians have defeated all of our forms of intelligence gathering for the time being. We can only assume that we will be at war within hours." The cat took a breath, glancing about the room. Nobody smiled. Nobody cracked a joke. Professionalism and anger filled the air.

That Venom had been able to do this was a frightening prospect, though not entirely out of the question. Unfortunately for the Lylat system, they had a trump card by the name of Andross Oikonny, former head of weapons development for the Cornerian Military. The genius. The ape that made both miracles and misery. Developer of gravity based weaponry. The engineer behind the Nova Bomb. The designer of several recently declassified and banned bio-organic weapons. Disgraced and banished from Corneria to a prison planetoid at the far reaches of Lylat.

Emperor of Venom.

"As of right now, I am placing the 104th Wardog and the 25th Ravens on Alert Five until further notice. I will be making preparations to evacuate civilians ASAP to Corneria. We do not have the capacity in our underground shelters to contain the civilian population if and when the attack occurs. For that, the 242nd Suicide Kings and the 87th Lions will be flying cover for the transports when I am given authorization to start the evacuation. I'm expecting to hear back from Command within the hour. All pertinent information regarding our force deployment, current counter insurgency planning, and what kind of forces we can likely expect on Katina and elsewhere within the Lylat system is now in your PDA's. Questions?"

"Reinforcements, sir. When can we expect them?" This was from Captain Denise Saru, the hare in command of the 25th. "Katina's orbit around Solar currently has the asteroid field between us and GHQ. They'll come at us from space, but they will land ground troops to be certain."

"As soon as a threat to Katina is confirmed, we can expect at least a day before we'd get ground reinforcements." Captain Saru's face twisted slightly at that assessment, but otherwise betrayed nothing. "Right now, the current plan is to use the asteroid field as a part of Corneria's defensive net. Sector Y will likely be where GHQ will place the Second Fleet. Third Fleet will be scattered about around Corneria, Fichina also. We're somewhat isolated at the moment, no point in lying about that."

"Seems dicey, sir." Bill motioned to the map. "If HQ wants to use the field as a natural barrier, they're just relying on how damned big it is. Current ship specs aside, we'd normally think of it as a hassle to navigate 'over' or 'under' the field, and take a different route. Venom's going through the field, losses or not." The Commander turned away from the pilots for a moment after this, sighing.

"HQ is most likely aware, but the honest truth is that this fight is coming at the worst time. We all know how military spending has been hacked apart for the last twenty years. Who wants to fight a war in these times, right? The fleet was supposed to be getting a series of new space carriers, one a year, starting ten years ago, but the plan was mothballed. We're working with aging capital ships, fighter squadrons that are scattered across the entire system with practically no actual space stations to fly out from, having to always land at a colonial installation. Our response times to simple pirates are typically to slow to save beleaguered civilians, just because we're scattered too damn far." The Commander sounded frustrated as anyone could expect, that he was being so open about his misgivings was an alarm to everyone in the room. "I can only ask of you to do the best you can. I'm also going to be putting out a call for mercenary units to also fly cover on the civilian evacuation. Assuming we can get enough help through that channel, I can keep the 242nd and the 87th closer to home, but I can't operate under that assumption until it actually happens."

"How long can you expect for them to get to us?" Saru spoke up once more.

"Call it about three or four days, at most. If _Lysander_ was picked off because she found exactly what we've banned around Venom, we can expect IPBMs within twenty-four hours. We're short on time, and don't have much to work on. For now, lets prepare for what we know we can expect. The clock is ticking, ladies and gentlemen. Lets get to it." The cat paused, tapping a communicator buried in his ear. He nodded after hearing something assumed to be favorable. "The 87th is to prepare for sortie within the hour, we are going to be sending the first transport at 1540 hours. The 242nd will launch in ten minutes, flying patrol sweeps over the intended passage route to the gate station at the edge of the asteroid field. As far as the data I've assigned to you all, I am sure you know the consequences of unofficial disclosure of said data. It contains a copy of intelligence reports regarding currently known equipment the Venomian military is armed with, and force readiness observations on their overall military. I recommend reading up as much as possible as often as possible; we're going to need every edge we can get. That is all, dismissed."

_So, we wait,_ Bill mused as he filed out with the others.

KATINA  
GST 03072216, 1202 HOURS

"So we can't expect any reinforcements for the time being?" Bill was incredulous. In response to the question, the CO handed him an official report from GHQ Corneria.

They were losing. Three days in, and they were losing.

"Just like I said, they came right through the Asteroid Field with their main force. They can't divert anything from Sector Y?"

"Not likely. Venom gated in a Bolse class defense sat, trying to use it as a forward base. This has been our only victory in the entire war thus far, if you can count the loss of sixty percent of the Second Fleet as a victory. What they have left is holding just outside of the zone. When the Bolse gated in, Second Fleet was all over it like a pack of-" the feline paused to allow himself a small grin, "-dogs, but they didn't quite expect the aftermath to be so violent. The nebula is irradiated from the Bolse's detonation, and right now the Venomian armada there is gathering up for a final push through to Corneria. Both sides have been circling around each other, taking potshots as they can, but the Second Fleet is definitely out of the fight as far as we're concerned."

"How is She?" Bill asked quietly.

"Corneria is currently fending off ground troops. The orbital defenses were bypassed within twelve hours. Casualties on both sides militarily are staggering, but they are definitely making a push at the capital."

"What about that hired help?"

"Not happening."

"Well, damnit, sir!"

"I know, Captain." The Commander puffed at a cigar, sighing. "Well, I'd like to hear your report."

"Well, as of now I've taken the survivors of the 242nd and have placed them under my command to fill up for the losses we sustained today. They claim the transport made it through the gate to Fichina about as safe as can be. Hopefully the local squadrons over there haven't had the same problems in the vac as we have. The 87th reported a series of gate transmission contacts within the Katina sphere of influence from the same direction as Solar, and looking at the long range scanning data, it's my opinion that we're next on the invasion list. From what SOCOM has told us, we're facing off against the First Vangaurd, same fleet that Andross used to secure Zoness, Macbeth, and the outposts on Titania. Same guys that Beltino Toad at Cornerian R and D was warning us about their activities around the star itself. "

"Busy little bees." Thinking for a moment, the Commander turned away for a long while before gazing back at Bill. "How soon can we expect them overhead?"

"Ten hours sir."

"Well, we should at least welcome them."

"The 87th is still fully operational, and we can spare the 104th for a preemptive-"

"Yeah." The feline was prone to cutting off his people when he agreed with what they were saying. "I'm giving you control on this one. Get your people moving."

Without waiting to be dismissed, Bill saluted, and marched out of the office, while tapping several keys on his wristwatch. Within moments, indicators sprang to life on its LCD, indicating the twenty-nine pilots of his command acknowledged his summons to the flight deck. Around the base, these men and women made their way to the deck to begin emergency preparations of their craft.

Next, he put in a call to the Captain of the 87th, Miyu Lynxara. Her face sprang up on a small holo projected from the watch.

"Kitty, I need to know your OpStat."

"We're tired as you can probably imagine. Have something in mind?"

"It's about the First Vangaurd. Commander wants us to soften them up some before they arrive, and we will not get another chance. Professional assessment, you think you can put up a Full Launch of the 87th to provide us some additional craft?"

"Seems like this is a rush job, Captain."

"Isn't it always?" He decided that he rather liked her challenging tone whenever they spoke to one another.

"If I had it my way, Captain sir, I'd tell the Venomians to get lost for a day or two to give my boys and girls some sleep. We've been flying twelve hour Combat Air Patrols around the immediate Katina system since the War Warning went out, I want to give the recent flight sleep if at all possible. You have half of us, myself included." She purred. "That ought to be enough to cover your sorry butt, Captain Puppy sir." She bared teeth with that smile.

"It's exactly what I want to hear. Try not to get lost on your way to the flight deck with your crew."

"Getting lost is a canine thing, last I heard." She laughed as she signed off. Bill shook his head. _She's taking the occupation of Zoness really well,_ he thought. Part of him said for him to pull her off of this 'rush job' for the sleep she was obviously needing, the time to write a letter home or to get into contact with any family on the ocean planet, but the last time he'd tried to do anything considerate for her, when she'd snapped her arm during a training exercise, she'd gotten her panties in a bunch over it, accusing him of treating her like a woman and not a soldier. She'd then gone on to worsen the injury by trying to fly with a cast on, and that had finally gotten her to stay off of the flight line. No, it was probably best that he left her on the line, if only to spare him the lecture he'd likely get from her regarding male-female participation and ability in the military, and he really couldn't deny her skill in a fighter.

He checked his PDA for the current up to the minute update on the advancing First Venomian Vanguard. At last count, they had two carriers, well over three dozen other smaller vessels. His flight of forty-five would be up against at least two hundred fighters, but they didn't need to actually stick around and dance with the lizard and ape aviators when they could just launch forty-five BUL-13 Nova Bombs into the battle group as the biggest wake up call anyone this side of the Lylat system could ask for. Elsewhere, the Cornerian military was being beaten back, but at least at Katina, they were still relatively fresh and ready to repel an assault. For a limited time, in any case.

KATINA, COMMAND CENTER  
GST 03072216, 1420 HOURS

"Awright boys and girls, here's the gameplan, we fly in hard and fast. Shoot and scoot, troop transports are high priority, bombardment craft are next. Once you have fired your Nova, disengage at make best speed for gate transmission to the First Lagrange." Bill's voice was clear over the tac net, the upcoming drama for the controllers and the Commander playing out as a series icons marked by display windows with realtime relays of the combined 104th and 87th pilots. The cat was puffing furiously on his pipe, and everyone in the command center was focused on the red and green arrows that angled in on one another, many hundred thousands of kilometers away in the vac.

"Roger that, Husky Lead." Captain Lynxara spoke, the false calm tempered by experience already dripping from her voice. They all sounded bored.

"Waypoint in thirty seconds."

"I'm seeing drives lighting up. Confirming fighter presence around strike area."

"Lead, capships are turning to bring guns to bear, we are targets!" announced Husky Four.

"Keep closing, ripple fire on mark."

"Roge."

"Incoming."

"Break break break-"

"Heavy fire, watch the beam-"

One face near an icon held an expression of extreme terror for one moment before being wiped away by flame and static.

"Ten seconds kids, keep 'em jumping."

"Four's down-"

"Got fighters in range, permission to engage." Miyu said, her voice now laced with tension.

"Reign it in, Miyu." Bill, calm still.

"Kibbles, he's on you!" she cried now.

"Shields down to thirty, cant shake this ape."

"Markmarkmark!" Bill cried. From the green arrows, blue markings indicating the Nova Bombs being released, racing in on the larger red contacts. Smaller reds were beginning to swarm the green group. Having gated in so close was a risk, but it gave the Cornerians a chance to at least release before the bulk of the fighter cover came into play.

"Shields down. Captain I'm in-"

"I see him, roll to evade, gimme a shot Kibs!"

"Captain Lynxara, bail Kibs out of that situation and disengage ASAP."

"That's a goddamned ROGER!"

"-hit! HOTAS control gone-" Kibbles, fading in and out through static, his green dot moving erratically from the pack of fleeing Cornerians, his thrusters clearly shot.

"Come on Lead, give us some-" Miyu, her voice shaking with emotions caught between rage and fear.

"Miyu, where you at kitten he's coming ba-" Kibbles, for all the world sounding like a sports commentator. His face on the display was replaced by static.

"THEY JUST KILLED KIBBLES!" Miyu roared over the tac net. Seemingly in sympathy, five small red contacts vanished from the displays.

"DISENGAGE." Bill repeated.

"-can't shake this one-"

"-boxed in, can't break-"

"I'm hit! I'm-"

Static.

"PERMISSION TO ENGAGE, I'VE NEVER LOST A WINGMAN! NEVER!" Miyu was still howling at what had become of her second in command.

"Reign it in." Bill said, sounding not much better. "Command, we're going to need some assistance." With that, the Commander stood up from his chair and marched over to the communications officer.

"Get me the 25th. Now."

KATINA SYSTEM, FORWARD EDGE OF BATTLE AREA  
GST 03072216, 1422 HOURS

Within the one minute of contact, Bill was down seven craft. The Venomian response was faster than anticipated, but not fast enough. Of the forty five craft that had gone out, only one was unable to launch their bomb, and of those, thirty found targets in the oncoming First Vangaurd, the detonations turning the night into day for a long moment. Now all he could do was to control the situation the best he could until help arrived, but they had bought themselves some time. The enemy fleet ground to a halt in the distance to take stock of what just hit them, so for the time being, it was fighter to fighter, with very stacked odds against the Cornerians. There was little to no time to actually call out orders any more, and the tac net was reduced to strained grunts and heavy breathing, with occasional kill confirms. Even Miyu had quieted down. They were all officially in a furball, and no amount of calling to disengage was going to change the fact that they simply couldn't, so Bill merely told his people to find a dance partner and stick nice and close.

His fighter bucked at his command, thrusters lighting up and shaking the fighter like a rat caught within the mouth of an angry hound. A wrenching spiral to his right put him at a Venomian's back, and in that short moment, Bill immolated the target with a short barrage from his laser cannons. He continued his spiral, avoiding another Venomian that was coming apart under the sustained fire of Miyu's craft, and as she passed him by, Bill halved another hostile with a dozen shots down it's center, that pilot dead well before his craft reduced itself to flame and fragments of armor. Finding himself on the 'edge' of the firestorm his flight was in, he banked around, spotting another target, alone and without friends, and put this one to rest as well, before boosting back into the melee.

An alarm sounded, indicators lighting up and a reticule marking an inbound missile, almost head on. He went ballistic, a booster climb and roll, popping countermeasures, small cartridges that suddenly expanded into a shape that was roughly similar to that of his craft, transmitting the same IFF codes. For being a simple AI, the missile did not change course, adjusting to lead his craft slightly. If he kept his course it would hit him midship for a definite hard kill. He jinked right, then hard left, turning back at the oncoming projectile.

Deep breath.

Three more countermeasures.

Exhale.

_MOVE_ he screamed in his mind. Nose over. The cushion of the seat shoving itself into his back. Explosions and stars blurring across his vision. A violent tremor.

Miss.

"Found you!" he cried out, spotting the craft that had put him on the defensive. The small, dart-like craft opened up first, red bolts spilling out of its cannons, a deluge of plasma directed for him. Bill shifted the fighter hard to the right with a last moment thruster burn rolling away from the line of fire, countering with shots of his own. Both craft blitzed past one another, neither pilot successful. Bill turned to follow, as did the hostile, and they crossed paths once more, mere meters apart. Again, another pass, this time the Venomian had a decent angle, getting off a short burst of plasma fire. Bill's craft shook in protest, several diagnostics lit up his HUD. Instinctively, he hit his reverse thrusters as hard as they could take him, taking him out of the rolling pattern he'd been weaving. The enemy pilot saw this and countered by flipping the his own craft one hundred and eighty degrees to face down the Cornerian as they charged back at one another. Green and red light flashed between both craft. Bill flew through an expanding cloud of debris. Rolling once in victory, Bill managed a half salute to his surprisingly skilled opponent, partly relieved to see an escape pod breaking away and out of the fight.

"Captain Gray, this is Captain Saru. Two Five is inbound hot. Looks like they know it too. Seeing thruster burns, now in the direction of the Venomian fleet. Think they're calling it."

"Confirming." Miyu said quietly. "Enemy is withdrawing." With that, cheers filled the tac net for a few moments before Bill made it clear that they were to stay under radio silence until their gate drives powered back up and they were safely in orbit over Katina.

Eleven pilots down, over thirty six confirmed fighter kills, and the long range sensor and telescopic intel on the First Vangaurd said that the larger ships were all out of the fight for now, and a large number of the ground invasion forces, the large saucer like troop transports were missing from the fleet, their debris scattered for thousands of kilometers around. The ratio was good, eleven of his for thousands of theirs, and eleven of his for potentially more time to hold out against a ground assault when it did come, as they all knew it would. They were up against numbers, not necessarily skill, which didn't make the fact that eleven of his people died any less painful to him. As they fled, the 25th flying trail in case the Venomians decided to turn back for a second round, he sought out Captain Lynxara's craft, pulling along side. He switched to a private frequency, and started to raise her on it, but stopped.

Her helmet was clearly off, floating in the cockpit, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking, a small fist occasionally pounding the canopy fiercely.

_Sorry_ was all he could think.

The gate out of the op zone was the most relief he'd ever felt after a good and proper firefight, seeing the planet spreading out beneath him, seeing it turn orange as his fighter burned in through the atmosphere for reentry was calming, the adrenaline from the fight just now beginning to wear away. Rest now, more fighting later, of this he could be assured.

Author's Note: Picked up Star Fox Command on the DS the other day, and thought 'Hey, I like Star Fox. Hey, I like writing. When I am not lazy, anyway. Why not?' So here ya go! Please read and review! Tell me whatcha like, or dislike. Hope this is enjoyable.


	2. Debts

"**Beltino Heavy Industries SSF-15 Kukri**

Wing Span: 13.5 meters

Length:18 meters

Height: 5 meters

Weight: 7000kg unladen, 8500kg full load out ver. A, later models 12,500kg (expanded Nova capacity)

**Engine:** One Moles-Troi 23 Energy Conversion Engine

**Power Source:** Reactor, Classified Level Phi

**Performance:**

Maximum Atmospheric Speed: Classified

Maximum Relative Speed in Vacuum: Classified

Service Range: Classified

**Armaments:** Two Agrias Heavy Laser Cannons, Version A Nova Bomb Capacity One, Version B Four, optional Two BHI-20 Micro Missile Pack (post war period)

**Background:** The standard issue fighter in service during the One Month War in 2216, the Kukri represents the link between traditional Cornerian fighter design and the later mass produced Arwing design put into service the year of this database's production. Following the concept of an untraditional airframe strengthened through the then commonplace gravity blade design, the Kukri was a far more dangerous craft than most of what the Venomian military could muster against it in ship to ship combat. Sadly, the Kukri never saw what could be considered fair odds during the One Month War, often outnumbered nearly 7:1. Despite only a pair of laser cannons for dog fighting, and the complete lack of either homing plasma cannons or tradition ship to ship missiles early on, the Kukri was maneuverable enough to stay in the flight longer than faster, less agile Venomian designs. The Kukri saw heavy use throughout the War, and after the War to this day, serving home defense units on planets throughout the Lylat System next to it's successor, the Arwing. Possibly the defining moment of this craft's history is the Battle of Katina, where four outnumbered squadrons of Kukri pilots, notably the 104th Wardogs, 87th Lions, 242nd Suicide Kings (squadron colors retired permanently), and the 25th Ravens, held off the combined forces of the First Venomian Naval Vangaurd for six days without outside military assistance before the arrival of Star Fox ended the fighting around Katina. Despite the heavy losses the Kukri squadrons suffered in the fighting, the kill ratio was a then unheard of 15:1. Only the SFX-Arwing can claim a better performance. The craft was later revamped to include the new Micro Missile systems to directly counter the Venomian penchant for using such weapons, with an addition capacity for four BUL-13's versus the original one bomb capacity, but even it its original configuration, the Kukri was an effective multipurpose craft. Of note regarding the design was the modular configuration of its components, often resulting in varying shapes of craft based off of the original Kukri aerospace frame, made to meet the needs and preferences of operating squadrons throughout the Cornerian military."

-An excerpt from _Grey's Aerospace Combat Craft, 6th Edition_

KATINA  
GST 03112216, 1500 HOURS

New Prospect was no longer a civilian installation. Heavy armor plating, originally meant for use on starships coming in for hull refits, now reinforced the central command pyramid. All around perimeter walls, turrets of various kinds lined them, on track systems where civilian trams used to ferry people about the base. The surface storage hangars lay empty, every last piece of material once stored in them, every spare fighter craft now lay below the reinforced surface. Not one foot soldier stood guard on the surface, only the passing wind, the low hum of the base power source beneath the ground, and the tracks of MBT-130 Landmasters rolling along the decks could keep Bill company here, atop the command center's roof, taking in the sight. No running lights were on during the day, and in the mid afternoon, the sun reflected oddly off of the surfaces.

Four days ago, he'd lead for the first time in what The Book called a Mid-Range Tactical Engagement. He'd seen combat before, against pirates, jackers, former military gone nutbar as mercenaries for the highest bidders, and they all had varying levels of organization and technology. He'd rarely, if ever had sustained any losses in his flights, and every flight leader at New Prospect could say the same. Eleven pilots dead in a single engagement. He couldn't even remember that many deaths over the course of an entire year at this duty station. When he first came on as a second in command, he'd always been told by the man he replaced that if he got waxed by some stinking pirate in the vac, he was certain to have been made fun of at his funeral to his parents. No pilot of that old cat's command was gonna take a bullet from a nobody know-nothing jacker with nothing to lose or gain.

It finally hit home that this was no longer the simple fight against simple and lesser-armed opponents, and that he didn't have as much say in who lived and who died, like his first CO had said.

Miyu hadn't said another word about Kibbles since they had packed away his belongings, no one really did. It was acknowledged that he was gone. On Patrol, the Navy would say. Non-Responsive to Comms, the Aerospace Force would say. Dead, dead, and ten others with him. They'd had plenty of time to reflect on the losses they'd inflicted and received. Plenty of time to clean out the quarters of the departed, leaving behind small boxes of personal items on the stripped mattresses of their beds. Six of them had been Miyu's. Bad luck, just their time. They had spoken to one another as they cleaned out the quarters, feigning ambivalence to the facts. Bill made a comment that shipping the personal effects back to the families would be difficult as things stood. Miyu agreed. She bought up how they could go out with the next civilian convoy. Bill reminded her that there were no more convoys to send. Those that had remained behind had almost entirely conscripted themselves to the defense force. She'd even joked about how that was inconsiderate of them, as she was sure Kibbles would have wanted his stuff sent back ASAP. They'd both laughed, empty sounding, their masks of leadership and indifference in place, Miyu's seemingly held together by the duct tape of Duty and Leadership.

The First Vangaurd now floated in orbit overhead, the bombardment they all expected to come did not. They wanted the base, the information they could garner. Prisoners. Katina was cutoff, with all her forms of communicating to the outside universe monitored and jammed since a day before now. They stayed up there, taunting the pilots, testing their resolve, trying to lure them up to an engagement out of the base's weaponry, out of range of the extensive defense net that extended for hundreds of kilometers around the fortress.

The last anyone had heard was that the situation on Corneria was improving, but the extent of which was not known. The previous night, small bursts of light could be seen in the stars above in the direction of Sector Y, following a series of confirmed BUL-13 detonations from the asteroid field hours beforehand. The war was continuing elsewhere. Here, it was on pause as Katina's defenders kept their eyes to the skies, watching as the First Vangaurd reinforced. Thousands of them, eleven of his own, efforts by all made worthless as inaction set in.

His watch buzzed, a small message scrolling across the display: IMMEDIATE: ALL PILOTS REPORT TO HANGAR. FULL LAUNCH ALL AVAILABLE CRAFT. CONFIRM LANDING OPERATION GRID POINT 234-2 BY 322-4. GROUND UNITS ENGAGED BY SPACEBORNE ARTILLERY OVER OUTPOST JERICHO. VOICE CONFIRMATION FOLLOWS.

Simultaneously, deck plates slid aside to reveal racks of anti-ship missiles, long range Nova Bomb racks, Landmasters roving to higher ground with fewer obstructions, their main guns pointed at the skies.

"Commander Styles, Bravo one one six three six five two seven nine nine." The feline paused, taking a deep breath. "The ground forces at Jericho confirm a Saucerer formation is moving in, we count nine. They're going to try for the defense nodes before moving in for the kill on New P. Estimate ten mikes to contact with them. We need to soften them up some before they get through to the bases. I am authorizing atmospheric use of BUL-13s. This is not a drill. Sector assignments: The 104th will have air defense priority over the southern and western quadrants. The 25th is assigned to the northern quadrant. Eastern quadrant is to be covered by the 87th."

Bill was already halfway to the hangar by the time the sector assignments were being given out.

The din was almost overwhelming, the usual sounds of pre-flight prep surrounding him. One bird was being pulled off of the line, Miyu shouting over the sound, asking for new canopy ejector pins. He passed the empty spot where Kibbles' fighter should have been. His gaze swept across the entire hangar, seeing where the 242nd should have been, seeing one of their pilots, now one of his, wearing his new and old squadron patches, staring at a picture of a small pup from back home for a moment before giving the thumbs up to the crew chief, the canopy sealing him in the coffin.

He got to his fighter, the first on the line for the 104th, and ran a hand along its hull, akin to a promise to a friend, a lover.

Then he was inside, a tech double-checking his bindings, doing a test on the ejector pins. It occurred to Bill how worthless those pins would be. The Venomians weren't about to take prisoners among these squadrons, not after the embarrassment suffered days before. Blood was in the proverbial water.

"Sir, you are good to go!" the amphibian tech announced, flashing him a thumbs up. Bill nodded, they exchanged a sharp salute, and the tech hopped back down the ladder, pulling it free. The canopy came down, and suddenly it was quiet save for the gentle hum of his engines.

"Husky team, Bulldog team, confirm green." His twenty-five men and women went down the line, green light, green light, green light, until finally it came to him once more. "Wardog Zero One, green light. All craft green. Control, Wardog Zero One confirms preflight complete, request permission to launch."

"New Prospect Command to Wardog Zero One, you are under our control. Hanger doors open in thirty seconds, you are first out the gate. Upon launch, form up and assume vector two seven zero, and stand by."

"Confirming. Lead to Pack, set to auto hover, prepare for ascent." Above everyone, the massive doors that sheltered this place from bombardment began to part the way, the sunset sky beckoning for them all. Once the doors were open entirely, the 104th began to lift away from the deck in pairs, Bill solo and last, watching them go. Clear of the hanger, their engines would ignite, and like a cannon shot they would be off. When he at last was in the air, the 87th below him and coming up for their sector assignment, he punched his throttle forward, following the rest. "Husky, we're taking the southern quad. Bulldog has the western."

"Leaves us a bit thin, Lead." Bulldog One said. Bill smiled thinly, having tuned his comms to transmit this to the rest of the pilots coming into the air.

"Wardog Zero One to Pack, we can do what aviators cannot. Confirm, 104th."

"You implying something, Grey?" Saru shot back.

"Lion Zero One to 104th, your Lead is an asshat, confirm."

"Protocol, Lynxara." Bill smiled.

"You hide behind protocol all the time, Wardog Zero One. See you on the ground." The 87th peeled off to their respective sector, the rapid fire sonic booms rippling across the skies, followed by the 25th behind him heading north.

"Lead to Packs." Bill checked his displays, intel dump coming from the tower. Frost up. Contacts are confirmed, we are open for business."

"Bit late in the afternoon for school to start." Bulldog Lead said with a chuckle.

KATINA ORBIT, VSS _INDIGNATION_  
GST 03112216, 1510 HOURS

The Venomian admiral who'd replaced the previous one after the incident four days prior sat in his own Combat Information Center, brooding over a set of displays, wondering what his opposite number on the Cornerian side of things was up to at this very moment. He was taking a much more cautious approach with this assault than was arguably necessary, but if anything, his climb to this position had been possible because of his cautiousness, forced as it may have been at times. He'd waited for the reinforcements from Macbeth, where other lizards like himself may have charged on ahead without a second thought, and had made sure to stay well out of range of New Prospect's anti-ship weaponry if at all possible. Having spread his forces out in such a way that blockaded any civilian shipping out or onto the planet, it was only a matter of time before they crumbled. The stable geosynchronus orbit enabled free control of the skies, and he could hit any ground target he pleased with crushing firepower. A scorched earth campaign was not his objective, however.

The Plan called for repeated use of AISaucerers, targeting the defense towers that surrounded the extreme outskirts of the fortification, purposely putting high priority targets within easy reach of the defenders, sending craft in waves, taking potshots with the dorsal beam grid on the defense nodes for psychological effect. The AI fighters that would swarm from the air carriers wouldn't win the battle alone, but a constant deluge of them would eventually fray the lifeline that the Cornerian pilots represented. It was physically impossible for them to stop the destruction of the defense nodes. The real assault would come later, with a heavier Saucerer variant leading that charge, her bays holding actual manned fighter craft, and twenty thousand shock troops to land and take control of the base-city once the air cover was neutralized.

There was no real place to run. They could abandon the base and head for the mountains to play guerilla warfare, but that would still guarantee a Venomian ground base. From here, they could begin staging fleets, and try to salvage the situation on Corneria and the asteroid field. Sector Y had started to see heavier fighting, coinciding with the arrival of new reinforcements from the enemy homeworld. Intel tagged it as elements from the Sixth Home Defense Fleet, lead by a new fast attack ship that had not been seen by intelligence before hostilities opened.

The same ship had been over Corneria City when the siege there had been broken, and had been spotted in the field when a small wing of craft took out a series of asteroid crushers, eluding pursuit and breaking through to Fichina, where they were lost after engaging a retreating sapper unit and their mercenary guards, coming out victorious, subsequently reacquired ten minutes ago in Sector Y.

He brought up the partial scans and visuals of the ship in action, the scans of her fighters. Nothing matched. New equipment? Not fully in production, possibly experimental. It was Cornerian, and yet not. He'd seen what they had over Macbeth, seen the holos of his forces fighting the enemy on their homeworld. Nothing he'd seen matched these new anomalies that were working from zone to zone, in and out faster than his people were ready for. Intel confirmed four fighters, a possible fifth, but it had to be at the least a thirty craft wing for that sort of carnage, and it was still not within the realm of absurdity of it was a mere fifteen craft squad. The BUL-13 was something the Venomians had nothing like in their arsenal due to the lack of the rare materials required to produce them, and they were the most dangerous tactical warheads on either side short of nukes. He gazed at a star map, in thought.

Katina was a single gate jump from Sector Y. A datapad was in his hands a moment later, and he put out a hypersignal message to his fellow admiral in command of the Vangaurd there:

_Admiral Kalnin, greetings from the First Vangaurd. I assume you are aware of the new type fast attack ship that's been raiding our frontline positions. I have been made aware they are in your region. If they break through, transmit a known vector my way. Best Regards, Admiral Rokel'shta._

He stared at the message a moment before hitting send. He was probably just being too paranoid, but this couldn't hurt. He called to his flight ops personnel and doubled the patrols around his fleet, and his gaze relaxed upon returning to the battle planet side.

NEW PROSPECT, KATINA, SOUTHERN DEFENSE QUADRANT  
GST 03112216, 1542 HOURS

Turkey shoot was something that could be used to describe the fighting, but seeing as how there were Avian pilots in his unit, Bill decided against calling this out. The enemy was coming in dumb and fast, staying in formation even with the Cornerian fighters ripping through them. He double checked his squadron status window, and found no serious hits.

Too easy.

"Lion Zero One, Wardog Zero One. How's your end?"

"Not liking this at all, Bill. There's too many of them, but they're not overwhelming us just yet. We're breaking through to their Saucererwaitone-" She faded into static for a brief moment, an orange flash that matched her fur flaring up just before. Bill's mouth ran dry. She came back online. "Sorry, took a few hits portside. Command hasn't spotted any ground troops. Not liking this at all. Starting another run on a carrier." Her face winked away from his displays. There was a bright flash, followed by six more from the western quadrant, the thunderclap of multiple Nova's in the atmosphere rolling across the landscape. "Confirm! Lions have the first kill on a Saucerer! Hoo-ah!"

"We see it, good work Captain." Commander Styles broke into the general frequency.

"New contacts, heads up Ravens." Saru came in over the command net. "Got a situation developing in Northern Quadrant, new type of Saucerer, this one is much larger. Bays are opening…confirming ground units exiting! New Prospect North is being invaded!"

Bill strained to hear over the thunder of his own Nova joining three others from his team, a pair of Saucerer's coming apart at the seams, crumpling against the dry ground short of their targeted defense node. Things began to happen very fast. Two green lights representing teammates blinked red. Styles called for a collapse of all ground forces back to the Central Hub, the air wings were to provide air cover as needed. His threat receiver went off. He went ballistic, full booster climb, roll right, neck craned back, looking for the missle. Looking. Looking.

Five!

Chaff! Flares!

Hard left, cheeks and fur sagging heavily against him, his vision turning gray.

Roll over right, inverted immelman, the ground filling his vision for a moment, the sun in his eyes a brief moment, the craft rattling with the near misses.

He took the breath he strained for.

Two left.

Bulldog Lead called out a shot. There was a faint rumble, then a second, louder one as the sound caught up to him. The threat receiver winked out.

"Lead, tail is clear. Got your wing. Contacts, at our three sirbreakbreakincoming-"

Nose over, the edges of the world red, then gray again as he jinked under the laser fire, back up into an ascending roll, getting visuals on the targets. Bulldog Lead had mirrored him, coming in on the three craft formation from below. Bill fired the moment his lead reticle rested on a fighter. Miss. They split up. Grey followed the lead craft. The other two stuck close together, and he could picture the lizard or the ape in the fighter he chased out, wrenching his small airborne dart around while howling for his two subordinates to get on the guy who was on him. Bill's cannons barked a short request, the enemy replied by punching burners and knifing for the deck, Bill had anticipated, and the Venomian seemed to walk into the proverbial saw blade. One azure bolt punched through the cockpit. "Kill confirmed." he said, cringing slightly as the fighter tumbled away. Nasty way to go.

"Lesson learned, SIR." Bulldog Lead exulted, blasting his pair to shrapnel seconds later. He formed up next to Bill, and the pair made their way back to the center of the furball.

"104th, you are not falling back-" Styles began.

"104th is defensive, will comply as situation allows." Bill said about as evenly as he could while Bulldog Lead's fighter became a complex mass of twisted airframe and fire from a sudden barrage directly above. " Husky Unit! Bulldog Unit! Collapse back to Central ASAP!"

The central net was growing more chaotic, the ground forces chatter up north especially difficult to listen to.

"-line is breached, falling back to second perimeter-"

"-armor and infantry breaking through, requesting immediate air support! Ten-Five-One! Grid square November Charlie-"

"-medevac request, Squad Three, A Company sustaining critical casualties, is anyone on this-"

"-situation at second line unstable, command, requesting Nova drops, grid square November-"

"-down to three effectives, need immediate-"

Above it all, the 25th Ravens were the avenging angels for the faltering ground defenses, the first of the three squadrons to have managed a withdrawal to provide close in air support for both the central command hub and the ground units. In pairs or alone, members of the 25th came in low, often times barely between Landmasters as they raced in from friendly lines to the Venomian armor, introducing them to the same hell the Cornerians faced. For long minutes, the 25th fended off the combined air and ground assault with no other assistance, then were rejoined by the 87th. The 104th managed to rejoin the main defensive line after it had wrapped up its engagements with Venomian fighters, bagging the last AISaucerer before falling back to the line. For one hour the line held, a grinder rapidly developing between the two forces. Recovery of wounded from the first defensive line one kilometer out from the command hub, five hundred meters from the second line, was attempted and failed thrice. With as much confidence as could be mustered knowing there could have been friendly survivors in the area, Commander Styles ordered the first line be sanitized by a Nova bombardment.

It would not be the first time friendly forces, dead or otherwise, could not be recovered due to the circumstances of war.

KATINA ORBIT, VSS _INDIGNATION_  
GST 03112216, 1650 HOURS

There was a phrase on Corneria regarding the sport of hunting. "You either get the game, or the game gets you." Admiral Rokel'shta of the First Vangaurd decided that for the moment, the game had gotten him. The resistance was incredibly fierce, but he'd been correct to lead the assault with AI fighters before putting his men in the direct line of fire. He'd been wrong to not expect the Cornerian use of Nova weaponry so close to their own base, but he did know he'd forced them to expend them early on his small armada of Trojan horses. The ground units had taken quite a pounding, but at the end of this exchange, his losses still did not match the Cornerian losses. All of the defense nodes had been abandoned hastily, leaving the central hub alone with its' defenders.

He did put in his now part-of-the-daily-routine request to Command to be given permission to just glass the little colony and set up more rudimentary encampments on the surface, which would have gone much faster, and he'd known for a fact that the majority of the base civilian population had evacuated in the days prior. This was taking much longer than it should have. Checking his datapad again for what seemed to be the hundredth time since the initial assault started, and found that there was a red flagged message blinking at him from the inbox.

**MESSAGE 235-03112216 NOT RECEIVED, INTENDED SHIP NOT PRESENT AT COORDINATES SPECIFIED/NOT FOUND/DATABASE ERROR.**

"I need a status update on the battle in sector Y." he barked to his aide. The lizard hurried off. Rokel'shta crossed his fingers together, a million new scenarios playing out in his head, the recordings of that new fast attack ship staring up at him from his desk quite suddenly.

NEW PROSPECT, KATINA  
GST 03112216, 1700 HOURS

The bombardment had been fast, precise, lasting a single minute. The ground shook for that entire time, and after it finished, silence reigned over the field. The Venomian blitzkrieg broken, their hover tanks picked up ground troops as they reversed course, fleeing across open terrain under intense fire, contrails of anti-tank rockets, bursts of heavy plasma fire in their wake. The mother ship for the hostiles settled over one hundred fifty klicks away, for the moment her remaining fighters landing in waves and returning to the sky to fly defense in the event the Cornerians were hungry for pay back, which they weren't. For now, the 25th, least damaged of all the squadrons, remained in the sky, while the Lions and the Wardogs landed for rearm, repair, and rest.

Miyu did not leave her cockpit, wanting to be alone; the 87th was down to sixteen effective pilots, including their captain.

Bill counted his own losses while drenching his face with a bottle of water, taking a second and chugging it down as quickly as he could before climbing back into his craft. The 104th, with their twenty remaining craft, was to replace the 25th in the air alongside the 87th while Saru put her people down for repair and rearm. With Bulldog Lead KIA, he decided to take up that position, and made the appropriate configurations to his IFF. He tapped the all call button on his wristwatch, letting his people know that his IFF showed him as WDBULLDOG01. They all had five minutes before going back up. He watched as tech pulled free the twin beam cannons from his craft, replacing their barrels and capacitors before locking them back into place. Five people worked on one fighter so one pilot could fly and possibly buy a piece of it in said fighter that was worth more than the cost to train five _hundred_ of those technicians. He smiled humorlessly, frosting up once more. Almost time to go. He looked back towards Miyu's craft from his own, found himself frowning.

"Wardog Zero One to Moping Zero One. Miyu, you alright?"

"Fine." No picture came through on his display.

"You're doing fine. You are."

"Grey…I don't wanna- I'm…honestly terrified going back up." She moved her hand from the camera in her fighter. She'd looked better, fur disheveled, exhausted from the hard flying, from the losses. Her eyes didn't quite look back at his. "…Tried to get in contact with the folks on Zoness…"

"I'm sure they're fine." Bill said. "I'm on the same page as you, Captain, believe me. I've got a father in the Orbital Defense Fleet over Corneria, probably wondering about his son about now. Haven't heard from him, but he's dad after all." He reached out towards a small photo of his father and himself, age six, at a playground, his now deceased mother having taken the picture.

"Grey…I think I'm-"

"Don't say this. Don't say what you want to say right now, not right now, not when we're back up in three minutes. Look at me." She didn't. "Look at me, right now, you wanna cry about this, you wanna punch your fists into the walls and break your wrists again? You can do all that, but right now we gotta be who we are. We're the Captains of fighter squadrons. We don't have time for this, not right now."

"What if they are really-"

"Don't think about them right now! Look at me, look at my face, Captain!" She finally did. "Repeat after me! I, a citizen of the Cornerian Alliance!"

"I, a citizen of the Cornerian Alliance, Bill, damnit, I'm-"

"-swear an oath of honorable service to the eighteen billion souls who cannot protect themselves, from threats foreign and domestic-"

"BILL! SHUT UP! I AM NOT SOME STUPID CONSCRIPT, I KNOW WHO I AM, I KNOW WHAT MY JOB IS, AND I KNOW THAT I AM A WOMAN, AND I KNOW I AM ALLOWED TO BE WORRIED ABOUT MY FAMILY, AND MY FRIENDS WHOM I HAVE WATCHED GET KILLED BECAUSE SOME STUPID APE BASTARD THOUGHT IT WOULD BE A REAL SWELL IDEA TO START SOME WAR BECAUSE HE WAS A LITTLE UPSET FER GETTING EXILED FROM THE HOME PLANET FOR LETTING SOME BIOWEAPONS LOOSE YEARS AGO, ALRIGHT!" If she had been strong enough, Bill was certain she would have torn through her restraints, reached through the private channel, and choked him. She sobbed once, then started to settle back down, one deep breath at a time.

"Feeling better?"

"You go to hell."

"Good."

"I really hate you, you freakin' mutt."

"Dogs and cats working together to solve psychological breakdowns, what ever will come next?"

"You know what? You know what?" She nearly roared, starting to unbuckle herself from the seat. "I'm going to come over there RIGHT NOW."

"Launch in two minutes, Captain Lynxara, better get ready." She looked at him almost incredulous.

"Did you major in Pissing Me Off before joining flight school or what?"

"Miyu. Keep your eyes in front of you. You've got family back home, we all do. But you do have people here right now who need you to be the Captain. You need to cover my wing, understand?" She looked away, and Bill chuckled. "Lion Zero One, copy?"

"Roger. Bill?"

"Yeah yeah, don't die. Did you want dramatic music too or what?" Wardog Zero One began idling the engines on his craft.

"I'm going to hurt you, I haven't decided how."

"Woof." He bared his fangs before cutting the link. "Awright Wardogs, finish your preflights, and get ready. We're up in one minute."

NEW PROSPECT NORTHERN DEFENSE AIRSPACE, RAVEN-ZERO-ONE  
GST 03112216, 1701 HOURS

"Raven Zero One, RTB for rearm and repair." The ATC tech sounded young to Captain Saru, but the joke went that most people did. Nearly thirty-five standard years of age, Denise Saru, Captain of the 25th ASTF Ravens, was the eldest pilot on the base. She never got angry over the grandmother jokes, letting her skills in the skies do the talking. Taking another glance at the skies and at her sensor displays, she nodded to herself with some satisfaction; Clear, for the moment.

"Roger that New Prospect, will RTB once we've been relieved by the 87th and the 104th. Hear that kids? If you need new cannon capacitors, bombs, sharp sticks, RTB as soon as we get our back up. The rest of us will remain on patrol." The usual smattering of 'Yes Mom' filler her helmet speakers, sixteen pilots were going to hit dirt for their necessities, which surprised her. She still had twenty-eight craft up, and this too surprised her. The 242nd had been nearly annihilated, the survivors disseminated into the 104th, and now they were back down to twenty. The 87th had fared no better, down to sixteen of thirty.

When she was younger, she might have attributed this to raw skill on the part of her people, but she knew she'd been fortunate with the way the week had played out for the 25th. Her eyes went back to the sensors. Bill would have said she was as jittery as any hare was usually.

"Raven Zero One, reinforcements inbound in two minutes. How you holding up, Saru?"

"Was just thinking about you, Wardog. I've got a little over half my flight setting down for repairs. Good to have you back up here."

"Headed in yourself?"

"I'll go in last." She looked to the north. From her vantage point, a thousand meters over the base, she could see the Saucerer, no longer on the ground. Like a guillotine pointed at them all. The way the afternoon sun lit up the cloud of fighters surrounding it was pretty in its own way. Another fighter blocked off the view, Bill saluting her from it. She wearily returned the gesture. "It's awful nice up here."

"How long do you think we have, Saru?" Bill asked abruptly.

"If we really intend to hold New Prospect, we're not lasting beyond nightfall." She shrugged. "I suppose though, we've nowhere to run. The planet is blockaded. They know where we can go. If they really want, they could just glass the colony and move on. They want the base. It's about making a statement."

"Get down to the deck for some repairs. You're very reassuring, by the way." Bill coughed.

"I'm a realist." That was when her plane wrenched hard to the right, away from Bill's craft, and she could smell smoke in the cockpit, feeling her gut tighten as her fighter staggered, then dropped towards the ground.

"Captain Saru!" Bill dove after the suddenly stricken craft.

Displays flashed the bad news to her right then and there. She'd taken a few hits during her strafing runs on the Venomian troops, but nothing that had taken her out immediately. Her left wing was gone, part of the fuselage with it. Her engine indicator was blinking red, which was bad. She had no response to any control surfaces or thrusters, meaning her reactor had scrammed and ejected itself free of the craft. The fighter was a loss, and she knew it. She pulled her ejection lever. Nothing. Part of her was angry. Where were the warnings? Everything had been fine, this wasn't fair.

Bill followed the ruined ship for a few moments, relieved that Saru was still alive. From what he could tell, she'd taken a round or two close to the reactor, and it had finally gone critical.

"Eject Captain, I've got you." His voice came in over the speakers.

"Gonna to hafta jump out myself, my pod is busted." She said, working her straps quickly, not even sure if she had much time left, unable to tell if Bill could hear her. With her body free of the straps, she raised her legs up as best she could, and kicked at the canopy. Not a single budge. Again, and again. The third time succeeded, the canopy bursting open, the actual charges designed to pop it in the even of such an emergency finally going off. She felt a sharp pain all around her, and could see flame, honest to goodness flame around her. Her legs seemed to feel nothing, but she knew she could still kick away from the wreck. She did, and could see again, her arms reaching towards Bill's craft.

Everything went dark.

NEW PROSPECT KATINA, COMMAND CENTER  
GST 03112216, 1703 HOURS

"Situation in the air, Raven Zero One has dropped from the scopes."

"Reacquire."

"Negative response. Last transmission indicates a reactor failure!"

"Get SAR up."

"Command, Wardog Zero One! Captain Saru is down! Condition unknown! I've got her and am bringing her in now!"

"SAR is en route, Captain Grey, hold position."

"Negative! That is a negative, am bringing her in now! Need surgeons on standby!"

The Command Center suddenly got a lot busier.

Author's Note: I've been working pretty hard at my store recently, so this update and edits done during it were delayed MANY times. I did get a review that essentially got me to continue writing this, and I do thank that individual for it :) I would appreciate more feedback if at all possible. Again, I hope you enjoy it.


	3. Eight Minutes and Five Seconds

"It should be noted that under normal circumstances, it would be literally impossible for a single four craft wing to rout a fleet sized force. The SFX-Arwing design was far removed from normal circumstance, a design superior to nearly everything developed during The War. With the ability to focus the shielding around the craft through the use of centrifugal force, there was no single strike craft that had the same level of survivability. With a loadout consisting of a pair of experimental M-17 Haman Energy Physics Laser Cannons, a single M-35 Haman Energy Physics Pulse Cannon in the nose, and the largest payload of the BUL-13 of any Cornerian design in The War, the SFX-Arwing was certainly a beast of its time. The unique combination of variable geometry wings and the G-Diffuser system allowed for normally impossible to achieve acrobatics in flight, with the force of gravity literally being 'ignored' by the aerospace frame and its pilot. That the fighter remained experimental for nearly thirty years before the mass-produced variant came into service is testament to how complex the actual workings of the machine were for the time. Still, given that the fighter design was technically superior to everything in its class, it does not justify how effective the craft were during The War, as post-War analysis of the design in the hands of several thousand test pilots did not achieve the same results. The argument that historians lay out, claiming The War would have involved fewer casualties had budget requests passed for the SFX-Arwing and the co-developed _Physalis_ class space carriers to be pushed into service on schedule is still subject to intense debate.

What we do know is that thousands of test pilots could not reproduce in the SFX-Arwing what four men were capable of."

-An excerpt from _Grey's Aerospace Combat Craft, 6th Edition_.

KATINA SYSTEM  
GST 03112216, 1730 HOURS

It started with a single mote of light that parted the darkness. This light expanded, contracted, swirled, stabilized, a perfect disc of effervescent green, out of place in the emptiness of the vacuum. For a moment it remained still, before a second burst of light emanated from its center, the disc rippling like a shallow pool of water disturbed by a stone. The light expanded again, tearing a hole open in the disc, and beyond that one could see storm clouds, energies tearing free from the disc. It widened further, and ripping free of the gate at high velocity was a single ship, the design unorthodox. Lengthy and bulky, the bridge extended far ahead of the rest of the construction by a 'neck', which lead into the body. Four wings in an X formation, clawed forward, giving it the appearance of a bird of prey, sweeping down upon it's enemies with hidden armaments and the pair of heavy beam cannons that were mounted just above a sealed docking bay. Pushing free from the gate under the power of three colossal fusion drives, it adjusted course towards the planet Katina. Behind it, the gate effect collapsed on itself, the fabric of space trembling at its passing.

Star Fox had arrived in the Katina system.

The bay opened, a pair of heavy blast doors folding inward. Within moments of the doors opening, four streaks of light raced away. They formed a diamond, then burst towards the planet with frightening speed.

KATINA ORBIT, VSS _INDIGNATION_  
GST 03112216, 1730 HOURS

"Sir, gate transmission detected, hostile configuration!" The Admiral's aide burst through the door of his quarters just as the admiral was moving towards it.

"It's them. How many capital ships?" He marched briskly out the door, the aide following. _Bad timing,_ Rokel'shta thought. Just as his ground forces were preparing a final assault upon the Cornerian installation below.

"Just one sir, information is still coming in from the CIC. Recon picket has detected four strike craft on high-speed approach vector." The aide seemed to be distracted for a moment, receiving reports from different sources over the neural network. "Configurations match the reports from Fichina, Corneria, and Sector Y."

"This must be a feint. They're aware of their reputation, and want to rattle us." He adjusted his official admiral's cover, then tapped his ear piece, now broadcasting to the captains of all his capital ships over Katina. "Prepare for combat, gentlemen. All available fighters are to launch immediately." He checked his watch. "Lieutenant, time to contact with enemy?"

"At this speed, five minutes, twenty seconds."

"Excellent. I expect salvage operations on their remains within six minutes."

ALPHA ONE, SFX-ARWING  
GST 03112216, 1735 HOURS

"Awright, boys, in pairs. Falco, Slippy, play nice, Peppy with me."

"G-got it Fox." Stammered an amphiboid.

"Thanks, Fox." A resigned sigh issued from an avian. "Slippy? Assume my six o'clock low, and try not to choke on your tongue or something."

"Right…"

"Roger Fox, on yer right." A slight drawl of experience combined with boredom from the hare covering his leader.

The vulpine in command of this flight checked his displays. Four minutes until contact. The HUD was alive with numerous contacts, each one marked by a diamond red diamond.

"Fox, pickin' up a few carriers. Got three Core Bases in there too. Isn't that the _Indignation_?"

"Got it on my monitor, Falco. I'll take 'er."

"My ass, gotta beat me to it."

"Frost up Junior!" the hare spoke up again. "Do we actually have a plan? Pepper is going to be upset that we left behind the fleet at Sector Y just to come here."

"Then he can be upset."

"A mercenary has to follow-"

"Peppy? I'm going to borrow a line from Falco. Assume my six o'clock low, when Pepper calls asking why his heroes aren't assisting the push to Aquas, remind him he can reach the customer service hotline."

"Rob isn't gonna be pleased." Peppy sighed, settling himself in the acceleration seat more.

"True. He's worse than my ex, always finding somethin' to be upset about." Falco chipped in.

"Which one? The cat from Zoness?" Fox made for the dig.

" Which _one_ from Zoness? Apparently cats from around there do like to eat birds, if you knowwhatI-"

"TEE EM EYE!" Slippy howled, his craft clearly banking away from Falco's as if to make a run for it. Everyone shared a chuckle.

With that, the flight got quiet. Fox McCloud, leader of the infamous mercenary unit Star Fox, had less than three minutes to reflect on the entirety of his life that had lead up to this point. What would Pop have said, seeing his only son leave the military to pursue this sort of work for money? A military career tossed aside so easily. Or had he always planned it this way? Why he'd commissioned the Great Fox? What would he say to his son, a war profiteer? A man who flew the same stars as his boy to stave off war, watching from some place in these heavens as flesh and blood tallied up the kills, sent them into a machine with a specialized accounting program, and counted the money as it came in. Urged on by his best friend and surviving wingman no less! Teamed up with a self-important former gangster turned fully trained pilot! A toad who'd nearly dropped out of the same flight school!

"Fox, we are targets, wake up!" Falco snapped over the link. McCloud shook his head out of the reverie.

"Here goes, we cut straight through! Kill what you can and move for re-entry!" he drawled, wondering if father sounded the same when he flew. Was he relaxed? Tense?

"Fox! I did the c-calculations on re-entry. I can't hack their orbital platforms from here. Gonna hafta go in dead, no outbound signals or anything." Slippy reported, trailing the aggressive and amped up Falco as they peeled away to engage a fighter squadron at the leading edge of the orbital blockade.

"Peppy, find us some OrPlats."

"On it Junior."

"Fox, pick it up, here come their fighters." Falco warned, already assuming an intercept course that would take him through the nearest wing of Venomian fighters. The vulpine narrowed his eyes. The wings of his Arwing shifted back, the entire ship trembling as his thrusters cut away their maneuvering restrictions, going full bore. Time to earn his keep.

-

What followed was nothing that would ever be found in any military text. It simply wasn't possible. It shouldn't have even happened. History would show the gun cameras from over three hundred source craft involved in the engagement, and no analyst could justify a single thing they saw. Four fighters and a light fast attack carrier fought against six escort carriers, three Core Bases, nearly seven hundred strike craft, thirty orbital satellites in an eight minute engagement. The outcome had been obvious to both sides.

-

Fox scored the first kill, much to Falco's chagrin, the fighter that had met McCloud's wrath little more than a cloud of flame in his wake. The avian pilot quickly downed five craft that hadn't had a chance to break away from their v-formation to properly engage.

"I'm still ahead, Fox!"

"Stow it Falco you have high speed incoming, move it!"

"Thanks Mom, you mind watching your own road?"

Falco's fighter engaged its burners, rolling away from Slippy at high speed, a flood of missles racing after him. Slippy couldn't match the same movements, left behind to deal with the angry swarm of fighters that hadn't followed Falco. Slippy opened up with his two wing-mounted M-17's, a spate of fire that swept across the cloud of Venomian craft. The amphiboid uttered a tame yet fright filled curse as he rolled and banked to the best of his ability, some shots bouncing cleanly away from the g-diffuser generated shield, others absorbed, the fighter jostled hard by the hits and near misses.

"Falco, gonna need you in a sec." Slippy said with false calm.

"Gimme thirty seconds." Falco said tightly. Fox took a glance in the direction of Falco, seeing nothing but fire and brimstone surrounding the lone Arwing.

"Junior, Waypoint One is the Core Base I have marked. Thirty seconds, form up for a pass kids!" Peppy barked.

The incoming beam fire was intense, almost too intense. In a Kukri, Fox knew that he'd have been fried the moment the engagement started, but this wasn't a Kukri. The SFX-Arwing was still experimental, but the military had given them four of the prototypes for this very purpose. Despite how fast the action around him progressed, he still felt fully in control.

It became clear why they'd introduced him to the Arwing as a Space Dominance fighter.

"Pave the way boys, Base One is mine!" Fox exulted.

"Bull! Move aside!" Falco's fighter raced ahead of Fox, with two dozen enemy craft peppering him with blasts, unable to land anything serious. Trailing them was Slippy, with his own crowd of problems at his heels.

And yet, somehow, this entire experience seemed so far detached from everything else. Fast as it was, the adversary was slow.

"Slippy, put a Nova in the guys on my ass, then dive to evade, I'll put a Nova in the guys on you, get me?"

"Lombardi, that's not too smart-" Peppy began.

"Mark! Go Slippy GO!"

"Fox, we're gonna hafta make another pass!" Peppy said, putting on age by the second as Slippy obediently followed Falco's suggestion. A second pass wasn't something they could afford to do, not at this rate.

"Blow through it!" Fox ordered. His Arwing leapt forward, the pilot seat kicking him in the back as he and Peppy closed in on the piece of space Slippy's Nova was about to irradiate.

"_Alert. BUL-13 detected in flight path. Craft is not at minimum safe distance. Alert. Detonation imminent. Unable to achieve minimum safe distance at current speed and heading._" The AI droned at Fox. The warning on the HUD may as well have read RANGE: THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING. It was impossible to convince the machine that he knew what he was doing.

"'Puter! Reroute energy from weapons to G.D. unit and engines! Peppy, match me!" Fox called out. Space blurred and shook around him as the Arwing burst forth on his command.

Falco's fighter knifed ahead of him scant meters from his nose, Fox passing between him and his pursuers. _By the maker!_ He craned his neck around, waiting for the worst-

Peppy's eyes widened as the enemy squadron, swarming after Falco, loomed before him like enraged wasps, the HUD marking the Nova bomb three hundred meters to his right. Detonation in two seconds. He rolled, punching the burners, weaving through the cloud of fighters-

White light. Stars racing past him.

"Fox! ETA to Core Base, ten seconds!" Peppy blinked rapidly, sweat matting the fur around his eyes, maintaining his composure despite just having beat the blast wave of a BUL-13 through raw speed.

"Nice shooting Slip." Falco said as though announcing the weather. "Booster climb, gimme a shot on yer friends back there, I ain't wastin' a Nova for these aviators."

"Thought you wanted Base One?" Fox commented.

"You can HAVE that easy crap, gimme their fighters." Falco's Arwing dropped neatly behind the group on Slippy's tail, methodically taking out each target. "Think ya got somethin'? Think ya got somethin'? You got NOTHIN'!" He rolled in victory, flashing the debris cloud a feathered middle finger. "Confirm this will ya? That's another eleven for Lombardi. Ain't. That. Some. Sh-"

"Busy!" Peppy snapped, maneuvering around a anti fighter beam shot, his craft suddenly rolling up ninety degrees perfectly, boosting away from Fox's wing. "Picking up mobile armors Junior, I'll keep your tail clear. Hit the bridge, then form up next to me. Falco, Slippy, I've marked the second Core Base, Waypoint Two, you've got thirty seconds before Fox and I go fer number three." Shaped similar to the bipedal ape that was Andross, the aforementioned mobile armors were a problem the Cornerian military was just learning about, boasting maneuverability greater than the frontline Kukri's Corneria fielded. Claiming a squadron of them as 'his' would have been considered suicidal back when he was a regular.

But like his three wingmen here, he had an Arwing.

"On it Peppy. Toad! Take the shot on Core Base Two, I've got yer tail." Falco's latest transmission was laced with some form of music in the background, his head seemed to be bobbing to the beat as he rolled in to cover his charge.

"T-try to cover me with less dramatics." Slippy was a bundle of nerves at this point.

Meanwhile, Fox flew.

The Core Base, _VSS Indignation_, Waypoint One, loomed before him, and it spat its hatred at his fighter. The odd saucer shape had two technologic mountains that split the shape open at its center, rising equidistant dorsal and ventral on the battleship. He aimed for the primary bridge, the 'top' of the superstructure, skimming the hull leading up to a designated point on his three dee map that gave him the best angle to fire a BUL-13 into the construction just below the bridge. The detonation would do the rest, the hope was to trigger more systemic failures in the Core Base by placing the bomb a little deeper in. Maybe hit the second bridge, maybe take out the ranking officer aboard. Around him, tracers swept across the vacuum trying to catch him, failing. He darted between a pair of heavy cannons, and started his ascent. The Nova's targeting system bleated a low-pitched wail matching that of the Threat Receiver blaring on about incoming missiles, his thumb resting on the safety release for a second before flicking it open and depressing the red-lit toggle.

KATINA ORBIT, VSS _INDIGNATION_  
GST 03112216, 1739 HOURS

When it happened, Rokel'shta was actually headed towards the primary bridge, having ordered his crew into protective suits. The initial reports he'd been receiving were bad to begin with, and getting much worse. The primary strength of the fleet was the overwhelming heavy artillery it carried with it, rendered harmless for the most part. They simply could not blanket the place with AA fire, as there were far too many friendly targets. Part of him almost began to order the recall of the strike craft, but the reports he was getting on his neural net was bad. Nearly one hundred fighters already counted as destroyed, an unconfirmed number of mobile armor downed.

No kills on the aggressors.

No doubt now, recall the strike craft. That was the consensus among the captains. He'd adamantly refused, no fighter cover may have been as bad as leaving them to be run ragged by these new fighters.

The sounds of groaning, stressed metal around him made him gasp and instinctively seal his protective suit, starting the oxygen flow. A thunderclap.

Heat, almost unbearable.

The sound of air rushing past him.

He reached for a handrail that was not there. His feet felt nothing beneath them. Looking up, he saw a gaping mass of tangled and molten metal, where twenty decks above him was supposed to be the second and first bridges respectively. He realized he was no longer actually on his own ship, thrown free of it.

It was deathly quiet in space. He twisted the best he could in the nothing, and saw a panorama of flame and laser fire dancing across his facebowl. Something hit him, hard sending him spinning wildly, and he stayed like this for a long moment until his flailing arms caught hold of something, his body slamming against a larger broken off portion of his ship. His.

The _Indignation_ was listing, falling slowly out of its orbit. Smaller explosions flared up here and there. The true extent of the damage to the superstructure was made clear to him. A third of the upper half of the spire was gone.

Seeing escape pods breaking free made the lizard smile contently that despite everything going wrong, some things still went right. Absently, he remembered the lieutenant who had been with him. Gone. Like the ship. _I still live._ His suit hadn't been damaged from the impacts, though a dull ache coursed through his body. The portion of hull he was holding on to was stable and going outbound from the ship and the planet. He was spared the same fate of so many, and left with another, likely solitary, cold, and dead. His contacts with his subordinates severed due to localized interference, he became an audience member to a grim silent film. Activating magnetic panels in the soles of his boots, the Admiral of the First Vangaurd sat upon the remains of his ship, and waited for the battle to end.

ALPHA ONE, SFX-ARWING

"Nice shootin' Fox!" Peppy announced as the Core Base listed heavily towards the planet, hunks of it splitting away as her reactor superheated, setting off magazines of conventional ammunition throughout her hull, splitting her apart down various seams. Fox rolled over to give himself a better view of the kill for a moment before falling in on Peppy's nine o'clock as the hare finished a duel with the last of the phalanx of mobile armor that had threatened him.

Analysts would pour over the gun cam footage for years.

"Slippy, take yer shot, getting a little hectic back here." Falco warned.

"Good tone, firing!" The amphiboid reported a moment later, underscoring the muted death of the second Core Base, much more violent than the first, the ship not having much chance to scar the planet below as the _Indignation_ would, her reactor going critical immediately, death throes taking a nearby escort carrier with her, the shockwave tearing through a portion of the battle before subsiding.

"Peppy, take the shot on number three!" Fox ordered. "Got the targeting data on the orbital platforms from you and ROB." A translucent hologram window displaying the overall picture of the fight appeared to his left in the cockpit, marking the thirty detected OrPlats with red diamonds. "We're going to take the course that'll put us right over New Prospect, plus minus a click or two." Gloved fingertips poked at the course intended, the plan transmitted to the others instantly. "Slippy, cover Peppy, Falco?"

"Thirty seconds, Fox, start your run on the OrPlats now. Bringing friends your way, so don't act surprised."

"You always bring friends." Fox mocked.

The fighter bucked hard suddenly, a mobile armor had gotten itself a clue and taken cover behind some debris, revealing itself now as the Arwing passed by. The twisted hulk it had been using for cover split open as its beam rifle got off several bursts, coruscating off of the shields. Fox yanked back on the stick, the Arwing complying immediately, whipping a one-eighty to face down the armor. Thrusters around the ship burned brightly, stabilizing the craft via the auto lock for a shot. The missile warning came up as a swarm of micro-missiles whipped free off of shoulder-mounted racks of the mobile armor just as Fox's laser fire cut the thing in half at the waist. Pressed against his seat with the throttle open, Fox wrenched the craft back around, feeling his body ache as he was thrown against his restraints again and again. Countermeasures! Some of the missiles streaked away at odd angles, confused by the CMs, others drunkenly pursued him for few long seconds before being thrown off by the odd angles Fox pushed the 'wing into.

Really, this wasn't fair at all; was about to get rough in a moment.

To his left, multiple light blooms announced the destruction of the third Core Base, Slippy and Peppy sticking a Nova apiece into the hull, precisely spaced to trigger the reactor from two sides. Clockwork, knockin' 'em down, one after the other like this-

The HUD turned red. Fox's mouth dropped open slightly. He was about one minute from making visual contact with the OrPlats, the HUD was now so cluttered with threat indicators from various Long Range Intercept Missiles, energy signatures from mass drivers fired _just for him_, fighters arrayed to stop his push for the platforms, he almost froze. Almost.

"Fox, might wanna dive to evade, here comes those friends of mine." Falco said.

Stick forward all the way. Falco's Arwing blanketed out most of the view. A later inspection of the flight data had shown the HUD marking them at less than fifty meters from eachother at that moment. The avian maneuvered perfectly, flying over the vulpine's head close enough to where the shields on both craft reacted to each other, flaring up as they brushed by.

"Holy-" Fox started. His finger held down the firing trigger as he rolled and climbed back up to follow his accomplice, Venomian craft literally flying around him for a brief moment, ignoring him just for the promise of a piece of Lombardi.

"Kinda made 'em mad. I see we've got incoming from the platforms yeah? I'm going for it, scratch these fleas, 'kay?"

"Right." Fox swore under his breath, picking off what he could as Falco made life hell for his pursuers and his flight lead, taking his agitated audience on a merry course through the wall of fire the platforms were dishing out, knifing between tracers and beams alike. Though he believed he was Lombardi's equal at a knife fight in any sort of space fighter, he saw more Venomians get pasted by their own defense systems than his cannons, and it was all he could do just to keep himself from suffering a similar fate whilst tailing the damned bird.

"Fox, Slip and I are clear, closing in on you now." Peppy cut in.

"Find platforms in clusters and put a Nova their way, don't bother to confirm! Make for re-entry now people, we are DONE!" Fox called out, thumbing away a Nova as he hit his boosters once more.

"Fox! We're going to use the falling debris as cover for our re-entry, we have to go in with all systems shut down or they can target us for sure!" Slippy reminded his flight lead, trigger another Nova at the platforms. The quartet formed a loose diamond formation. The HUD picked out a platform dead ahead, flashing him warnings as the offending constructs opened up on his team with twenty individual weapon systems. It was massive up this close, a kilometer at its widest point.

"Take this one! No Nova's, we need the cover!" They paired up by instinct, Falco and Slippy taking the port side of the platform, Peppy and Fox on the starboard, the team slashing at the construct with as much laser fire as they could pour on. The platform rolled on itself, breaking apart in larger chunks. Perfect. They'd passed the bulk of the orbital line; the few fighters that followed them did so against orders and common sense. The Venomians knew the general location of the Cornerian fighters. No more mistakes, no second chances. Though a number of platforms were downed, others disabled, there were still many remaining, and there were still full capital ships who could make the necessary station keeping required to bring their guns to bear.

"Shut down, now now now!"

"Fox, see you in thirty seconds." Falco shot a gambler's smile at his flight leader before the link cut out, interference or shutdown procedures.

"Slippy! Close it up, yer lagging!" Peppy ordered. "Fox, shutting down, luck on the way down Junior-" And out went Peppy's systems. Fox craned his head and found the fighter still in one piece

"Fox! Fox! I'm r-reading you and Falco over the re-entry tolerances of the Arwing! Fox-" Slippy's link went dead in short order.

"_Re-entry procedures initiating. Caution! Craft is being targeted. Evade._"

Instead of going ballistic, Fox toggled a few switches, lights on his avionics dying out as the entire ship shut down around him. Seconds later, he could feel it, the universe shaking around him, the residual G-Diffuser shield casting light around the whole ship as it burned in, everything in flames.

The Venomians opened fire.

None of the four pilots could see exactly what was going on, but they could feel it. Fox felt his stomach turn as a near miss made the craft spin wildly. His hands reached for the flight stick instinctively. Not yet. Not yet. He felt sick. He felt like he was going to die. He felt like his stomach was about to pass through his rear and into the flight suit. Around him tumbled bits and pieces of the handiwork of his team, ordinance from the Venomians who felt that a stand off barrage was the best way to deal with the rather scary new additions to the Cornerian arsenal. Closing his eyes for a moment to try and clear his senses, he took in a deep breath before looking down at his mission clock attached to his wrist. Ten more seconds, just ten more.

NEW PROSPECT KATINA, COMMAND CENTER  
GST 03112216, 1744 HOURS

One Commander Solomon Styles brooded as he watched the grim facts on the display. There were well over two hundred atmospheric craft, hostile, en route to New Prospect. Ground Recon was reporting Venomian armor starting their push at the edges of his lines to the north. The 25th, minus their flight lead, was making repeated runs at a flanking action by infantry and hovertanks in the east, shaken by the sudden loss of Denise Saru. The hare was in care of some of the best surgeons one could ask for, Bill's cowboy rescue enough to buy her time. Surviving this, doubtful as it looked when she'd arrived as a bloody mess on Bill's Kukri, would leave her unable to fly for Corneria again. The next hours would determine if they'd all survive as Cornerian officers and enlisted persons, or as prisoners of war.

"We've been tracking a massive battle overhead, sir. Multiple Novas confirmed to have been detonated." A leopard called out from her station. "The sensors are pretty cluttered due to interference so we can't tell what losses are being sustained by whom, but ground observers are confirming they can't find any of the Core Bases that were holding part of the blockade."

Styles slowly stood out of his command chair, staring at a quartet of blue contacts faded into existence two minutes south of NP at current speed, spread out, but assuming a tight diamond formation as they closed in. The lead craft was the first to transmit its IFF transponder code.

IFF STATUS: FRIENDLY  
SFALPHAONE

"New Prospect control, Star Fox is now in Area of Operations, requesting targeting data on contacts in battle area. We will commence hostilities shortly." Fox McCloud's voice was heard on every allied net in the area. "Glad to be here."

Author's Note: This was difficult to write. I've written, or at least tried to write a chaotic space battle using the pretenses of military rules and regulation and training in regards to the part of the story that centers on Bill, but when it comes to writing for Star Fox, well, these guys are not military any longer. If Bill and his squadron's flying is precise and calculated and part of a greater military strategy, if they can be seen by outsiders as the guys in the bar fight who move as if they've rehearsed this for YEARS, then I think I did my job. Portraying Star Fox's combat with its four pilots as the crazed, manic, brawl with the minds and styles of these four characters clashing and combining in a symphony of managed chaos is what I tried to do here. Let me know if it works. :)


	4. New Prospect

STAR FOX ALPHA ONE  
NEW PROSPECT AIRSPACE, KATINA  
GST 03112216, 1744 HOURS

"New Prospect control, Star Fox is now in Area of Operations, requesting targeting data on contacts in battle area. We will commence hostilities shortly." Fox paused, allowing himself a smile. "Glad to be here."

"Welcome to New Prospect, Star Fox. Your timing is impeccable." Fox looked at the feline on his HUD, a blinking readout confirming the man as Commander Solomon Styles. "You have incoming intel, Mister McCloud." He returned Fox's grin with a tired one of his own. His face was replaced with a three dimensional overview of the fight in real-time. "We've cut into their ground assets pretty good with repeated Nova bombardment, but as you can see, they've got at least three squadrons in the air, our people are getting whittled down. We think they're mostly drones, with real pilots playing dumb in the swarm, trying to form ambushes."

Who do we have in the air?"

"Local defense, what's left of the 104th, 25th, and 87th. We're relying almost entirely on them, the Venomians brought the fight close to the command center real fast, we can't use the point defenses, friendly fire issues. Our ground forces are pretty much holed up within the base perimeter, they haven't tried to bring in ground troops since the first attempt didn't quite make it half past muster."

"Alright Commander. Star Fox is under your control. Inbound from southern quad, one minute."

"Fox, did you just give a Cornerian Officer direct command?" Falco blurted over the team's internal private comms.

"That I did." Fox sighed.

"No way, that's bull. He's not gonna know what to do with us."

"Falco, not now. Slippy, you and Falco pair up. Peppy is with me."

"Don't change the subject! Fox, he's MILITARY, he's gonna have us flying circles with thumbs up our asses-" Falco's voice began to raise over 'annoyed' to 'royally pissed'.

"Falco. Use your best discretion then. If he's smart, he'll leave us well enough alone. If he's stupid, well, we all know what to do then."

"On your wing, Junior." Peppy's voice broke into the channel, sounding small compared to the two heated youngsters about to have it out.

"Star Fox, confirming your designation to my command." Styles smiled for a moment, not knowing what was going on between the four pilots at that moment. "Your orders are simple: seek and destroy. We're getting telemetry on your little scuffle upstairs, you don't need my meddling."

"Damn right!" Falco crowed.

"Weren't you worried that he was gonna be a pogue, Falco?" Slippy chimed in.

"Shaddap."

"AI, patch us into Local Defense Net." Fox barked, ignoring the bird and the frog.

_ Now linked_ 'she' said in monotone.

"Local Defense, Star Fox is now in the AoA, requesting IFF updates."

HUSKY LEAD  
NEW PROSPECT AIRSPACE, KATINA  
GST 03112216, 1747 HOURS

Bill managed to spare a moment to allow his face to show visible surprise before rolling tightly out of a Venomian's barrage. He scanned for the attacker and saw nothing save for the swirling combat all around him, realizing that this one had faded back into the rest of the swarm. Smart, and deadly, this pilot was, using the drones for the best cover available to a Venomian pilot right now. The New Prospect squadrons were getting whittled away little by little, and while the kill ratio still rested at a ludicrous fifteen to one, each downed Cornerian was the sound of inevitability calling. Over the course of the fighting since Saru went down, his rescue of her in mid flight, landing at the base to get her to medical personnel, what remained of a fighter command that once consisted of one hundred twenty SSF-15 Kukris was a mere twenty nine. He and Miyu were the remaining commanders in the fight. In order to lessen confusion among the pilots, Commander Styles had re-designated all the remaining craft as 'Wardog' squadron, dividing it into Bulldog and Husky units, giving Bill overall command.

"Husky Unit! New wave, designate Raid Ten! Assume vector zero-nine-zero! Ten klicks, shift to intercept!" Bill called out. His displays showed fourteen craft, Miyu's in the lead, managing to form a skirmish line of some sort to intercept the new bandits.

"On it, Lead." Miyu reported tersely.

"Husky Lead, picking up new wave! Designate Raid Eleven! Four craft, just inside the outer defense net!" another pilot said through clenched teeth, engaged in demanding evasive flying.

"Local Defense, Star Fox is now in the AoA, requesting IFF updates."

Bill allowed himself surprise for the second time that day.

"IFF Status of Raid Eleven is Friendly, re-designate as Star Fox! Good to see you, McCloud!" Protocol be damned, he hadn't actually seen this kid since flight school, what was he doing out here?

"Bill! Break left!" Fox called out. The sound of distant thunder filled Bill's ears as he complied with the request, and the whole world shook as an unfamiliar shape knifed past him. Was that a-

"Got him for ya, Grey." Fox said a moment later, the strange fighter that had passed him executing a single roll before seeming to jet off at an angle that a Kukri would have shredded itself trying to match. Three more like the first dove into the swarms of enemy fighters, and what followed, Bill would struggle for years to put actual words to.

STAR FOX ALPHA ONE

"Full Vernian Mode." Fox ordered his AI. At that command, the Arwing shuddered, the wings opening up, a series of new control surfaces sliding out from underneath armor plating around the wings. Parts of the fuselage shifted and opened, unveiling a series of small thrusters along various points. This was the reason for the experimental nature of the craft. While not considered a variable geometry fighter in the same sense that fighters two or three generations before the Kukri were, the fighter did change its shape, very slightly, the wings, normally folded almost straight back spread out like the wings of a technological bird of prey, the profile sharper, more aggressive. The wings locked themselves more firmly in place with a series of armor plates sliding and folding into place, the AI girding the craft for what was to follow. The fuselage seemed to widen in places, the maneuvering verniers exposed to the elements in dozens of places.

_ All Range Combat Manuevering System activated. Caution: G-Diffuser System cannot guarantee complete safety of craft and pilot when ARCMS is active in atmospheric conditions._

Fox thought about that for a moment.

"Here we go, here we go, here we go! ARCMS up, flashing the fangs! Falco's going ballistic!" the avian howled over the sound of some form of speed metal coming through his speakers before his image winked out.

"Falco! Don't you leave me!" Slippy managed to somehow contort his high-pitched voice enough to convey actual menace behind his words.

"Slip, ya look good. Breaking off, ah…perform Air Combat Manuevering at your discretion." Falco said in reply.

Bursts of flame erupted along the left side of Falco's Arwing, from the verniers, and the craft shot to the right at an almost perfect angle, the plasma cannons laying down a barrage of suppressive fire into a swarm of venomian drones. Energy seemed to gather just behind its main engine, and Falco dove into the swarm like an arrow loosed into a cloud of angry hornets.

Fox didn't bother to reprimand the bird for abandoning his wingman, Slippy seemed to adjust fine, ripping his own path towards the beleaguered western quadrant. Radio chatter was coming in that the lizards had armor on the ground and advancing on the base from that quadrant, using the debris from earlier fighting to circumvent the limited defensive fire from the central command pyramid.

Fox simply flew. It was this sort of detached yet attentive, precise piloting that would solidify his name in the history books. Falco would go down in history as the Ace of Aces, simple as that, but no one would ever compare him to Fox McCloud Jr.

He could hear Peppy calling out the serious threats with almost mechanical precision, and the pair would react as one. This felt like some kind of sick joke, they were more a threat to themselves than the enemy could hope to be. He hadn't even been shot at yet, the drones simply could not keep up with this sort of flying. It wasn't even flying so much as it was rewriting the rules of fighter combat.

The Venomians, for their part, were far from stupid. With the fleet overhead in complete disarray, reinforcement looking less likely by the minute, took stock of the current situation. The command decision from the Saucerer, ten minutes out at current speed, was to level the place and get the hell out. In such a short time span, the blockade and occupation of Katina had turned into an embarrassment. They'd lost an enormous portion of their space forces in comparison to what the Cornerian military had sent in response. The ground forces were in shambles, most the units involved in this last assault were barely in the fight, below fifty percent combat efficiency, harried by a single Arwing and the occasional pair of Kukri's that managed to pull away from the dog fighting for a moment to lay down withering barrages. The true effectiveness of the Nova weaponry was more than planners on either side had predicted in light of the rapid occupation of Corneria, where the powerful warheads had been banned from use by military officials for fear of destroying too much of what they were trying to defend.

The Venomians also had lost their Fleet Admiral. They couldn't confirm if he was alive or dead, but the chain of command was seriously disrupted. By the time the space forces made sense of what had just happened to them, there was practically no way to salvage the situation planet side, as elements from the Cornerian Second Fleet gated in seemingly in concert with Star Fox's entry into New Prospect airspace. This was a surprise to other Admirals in the Venomian Navy. It had been more a concern that Corneria would bypass Katina and secure planets Aquas and Zones while simultaneously using Fichina as a secondary forward base to pincer the Venomians at Katina. That was the worst-case scenario they had predicted, prepared for it.

Cut the losses. Deny the Cornerian military another planetside base. It was too late to turn this into a victory, but at least they could make it so that they weren't the only ones to lose. With that, the command Saucerer began preparations for its final assault. In the stars above, the battered Venomian Vanguard took up defensive formations, the dead and dying capital ships of the fleet left behind in slow, decaying orbits around Katina, a remorseful rain of metal.

Fox's eye's scanned the HUD for targets. Sets of lasers tracked the movements of his eyes, lighting up each individual target he glanced at with a red diamond. In turn, these red diamonds were craft that got a scanning pass from the Arwing's electronics warfare package, the data uploaded to every single friendly terminal on the Cornerian network, these targets identified and marked on the HUD of every pilot in the air at the moment, the display of every single sensors display in New Prospect. Space Dominance meant more than raw killing power and maneuverability, but total control of the infonet used by Cornerian forces to coordinate assaults. The four Arwings were the centerpieces of this network at the moment.

With targets marked, they would be found by a Kukri or an Arwing in moments, and put down.

The fight had changed once more. Fox swept under the 'belly' of the combat, skimming low to the ground for a few seconds before whipping the Arwing into a vertical climb, slicing three fighters in half before coming out above the furball. He craned his neck back to check his tail for anyone who was trying to be smart, and found that his eyes stopped on a dark shape in the distance.

A red diamond marked it. Scanned it. Transmitted it.

"Oh boy."

HUSKY LEAD

Bill fought his Kukri through a booster climb, bagging a bandit that had very nearly bagged him, and forced himself to breath through the high g maneuvers he was putting himself through. Though the craft was sealed and pressurized, the outside world muted heavily to him, he could _hear_ the Arwings move. Every vernier burst sounded like thunder. Had he the time to watch, he would have found himself growing rapidly envious. The Kukri could be considered to be as sharp as the melee weapon it was named after, but the Arwing was more like a surgical laser and a sledgehammer all at once.

His HUD was alive with contacts he himself hadn't designated. The Arwings were transmitting targeting data almost too rapidly, but the data was even color-coded and given threat values based on Cornerian protocols. As cluttered as it made things, he could not deny that he was finding targets easier. Before the arrival of Star Fox, he'd had to hold back from shooting on many occasions because the Venomian fighter rear silhouette looked similar in passing to a Kukri.

"Husky Lead, new data shows the Saucerer on approach vector with New Prospect!" Miyu called out. Bill was already looking at a data window that opened up for a moment before he toggled it away. He knew enough about the thing headed their way. The race had just started, and they had a chance to intercept early.

"Husky Unit, maintaining air cover of the base is our number one priority! Bulldog Unit! I want you and Star Fox to intercept, if the data is right, the Saucerer is arming its main weapon now!"

"Roger that. Bulldog Unit! Find your dance partner and engage the primary target as designated!" Miyu's fighter lead the charge, out in front, even before Star Fox formed up to power ahead with their superior fighters.

"Alright Star Fox, take it to 'em!" McCloud snarled.

As expected, the Venomian fighters split their number evenly and gave chase to the strike team on the Saucerer. Bill checked his displays and saw that he still had thirteen people still flying in his half of Wardog. It would need to be enough.

BULLDOG LEAD

Miyu scored another three kills in the first pass. She performed a Split S, tight and fast, barely able to suck in a breath of air with the G's piling on, closing in on the Venomians who were barely finishing their own maneuvers to close in on the strike group meant for the Saucerer. She laid into another fighter, another kill, before shooting vertical, a swarm of missiles issuing from the venomian teams. Countermeasures disgorged from the fighter, and she spiraled towards the protection of an Arwing that was coming back to cover her. The craft seemed to aim right at her, corkscrewing out of her flight path at the last moment, engaging the venomian swarm with not one whit of hesitation.

"That you, Lombardi?" Miyu called out.

"I'll try to watch yer ass, Miyu. Good to see you too." His face appeared on her comm display, smug as it probably had been since he was old enough to know what it meant to be smug. Damn that man. He hadn't changed since the last time they saw eachother.

She didn't reply, her eyes were on the Saucerer. A timer lit up near the diamond it was marked with. Grey was ahead of her with the warning.

"Confirming energy reaction from within the command ship. The Saucerer is preparing to fire its main gun!" True enough, the ship was tilted vertically now, from her perspective it looked like a black circle, the sun at its back. _It can't deploy fighters like that, they're going to try and finish this before it gets into typical engagement range,_ Miyu thought. The black circle had a small point of light growing in its center, with smaller lights rippling along the rest of the surface.

"Bulldog! Evade, Saucerer point defenses are lighting up!" _They'll hit their own people! What the hell!_ Miyu raged as she slapped the throttle forward. The Kukri whined in protest, lurching skyward hard, shaking as though it were close to ripping itself apart under the sudden maneuver. She saw beam fire streak past her cockpit a moment later. She sucked in another breath. Fifteen missile indicators lit up on the HUD. She turned towards the cluster headed for her, giving her a perfect view of the airspace around the Saucerer, alive with explosions and contrails from every fighter in the air at the moment. The tac net was filled with the growls and strained grunts of every Cornerian regular, forced into high-g dances, the Venomian missiles pursing them through everything they could muster. Four pilots went down immediately, a fifth, her third wingman of this whole ordeal, she reflected bitterly, managed to evade missiles, only to be sliced to pieces by concentrated anti-fighter beams.

Bulldog Leader managed to cut through a barrage meant for her, craned her neck to take a look, winced as she faced forward again, launching into another hard right, having seen the missiles loop back to pursue.

More laser fire. The Kukri took a glancing hit on the nose, the flash momentarily blinding her. She felt the fighter yaw to the left, watched the airspeed indicator drop precipitously, felt herself sag towards the earth. She managed another pain wracked grunt, her endurance being seriously tested, her gut feeling the abuse of having constantly needing to be tightened up to help her heart force blood to her brain. She rolled out of the near stall, losing more altitude but gaining more airspeed. Chanced a look at one of her rear view screens. Sucked in another breath. The insistent ring of the missile alert increased in pace as they drew closer. _Fine, lets try this._

She made for the deck, as another barrage of anti fighter beams pounded the earth around her fighter as she whistled over the ground at twice the speed of sound, perhaps a scant hundred feet over it. She corkscrewed up, flares, chaff blasting free in dozens of directions, a last pair of target balloons that matched the overall profile of a Kukri popping up among that cloud of interference, hoping to cut down on the swarm on her tail. Six remained, six too many. At airspeeds this high, shielding wouldn't even save her from a good burst from a Venomian interceptor's lasers, let alone six hi-maneuver missiles.

_ Warning, countermeasures ineffective, impact imminent,_ the Kukri reminded her.

Snarling with defiance, she snap rolled left, barely avoiding clipping the ground with a wing, jinking back right around another barrage of cannon fire. "Damnit, damnit, damnit!"

More countermeasures, a finger mashing down on the flightstick toggle.

_ Countermeasures depleted,_ informed the AI.

Shutting her eyes as the alarms grew louder in her ears, Miyu yanked the stick back hard, her vision graying out as the late afternoon sky filled the HUD.

HUSKY LEAD

Bill saw everything happen at once. Miyu's warning to her half of Wardog turned his attention away from Husky unit's fight for the airspace directly above the command center. Their skirmish line was effectively no more, and he couldn't rally what he had left back into a proper defensive perimeter without killing the people engaged in two versus one odds or worse.

Miyu called out the point defense warning. Grey watched as Bulldog Unit was scattered by the intense barrage, scattered and eviscerated, losing over half their number immediately. Miyu's newly designated wingman was killed in the first seconds of the Saucerer's barrage, the two having gotten separated earlier, a fact that might have saved her for the moment, as she was out of the thick of it. He was too far to see it with his own eyes clearly, but the sensor display told the drama clearly enough. The wingman had gone low initially, trying to use the ground clutter to hopefully throw off missiles that were certainly headed his way, but had cut off his own maneuvering options, climbing into a neat trap that the Venomian gunners had laid for him, his radar indicator flaring up once before fading away.

Miyu stood a far greater chance than the others who'd bought it then and there. She managed to drag the missiles along into a race she was slowly losing. Her icon seemed to stutter briefly in the middle of a turn, and the smaller indicators that denoted missiles ate up the distance between them and her contact. Bill found his jaw clenching tightly as he vectored towards her, seconds out at full burn, one eye locked on the display, feeling wrong somehow that he was watching from so far away. He coudl see the streaks of flame from her verniers even at this distance, easily. watching her kiss the deck briefly, dancing around what killed others of her command. _Go, Miyu go!_ Saw the missiles that remained on her trail whittle away, not fast enough though.

She attempted one last climb, hoping to throw off the missiles at the last moment, fighting out of a stall, Bill not know how she stalled, not knowing she'd taken fire from the Saucerer, but knowing she was in trouble and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He clenched his controls tightly enough to where he could feel his knuckles burn with the pressure he applied.

The contacts met, flared, and faded as his eyes snapped up to watch another small explosion in the distance, a trail of smoke and flame staggering towards the ground. A muted beep sounded from his console, confirming her contact was gone, and that was that.

He blinked. Checked his Nova stores. Empty. Damn.

"Fox. Fox, we're running out of time." His throat was dry as he spoke, angling in on the Saucerer. All or nothing at this point. The threat receiver warbled. Five fighters on him. "I can't support you, McCloud. I'm doing everything I can, I can't get to you!"

"Copy that, Husky Leader. StarFox has the shot."

_ My God, they're like angels, aren't they?_ He thought, watching the Arwings tear through wings of fighters, forming up directly in front of the main gun of the Saucerer, dancing around incoming fire almost effortlessly.

The lead Arwing fired a single Nova. The red streak was impossible to miss. Immediately, the point defenses roared to life, attempting to knock the warhead out of the sky, but it was simply too small for the turrets to accurately track. In the end, the energy field gathering around the weapon was what nearly stopped the Nova, actually curving its' initially straight arc away from the main dish. The Nova was content to bury itself deep within the hull of the behemoth, punching through one of the hatches that lead directly into the fighter bays. Tilted to the side like this, no fighters could leave the Saucerer, and a great number of drones and pilots waited within the vessel for the opportunity to launch. They would receive no such order.

Initially, the vessel jolted once, as if startled by what had hit it. Then roughly a quarter of the ship disappeared in blue and orange flame, a fatal chuck ripped free by a condensed artificial supernova. The amount of antimatter actually included within one Nova was classified, but as any one who served with or against the weapon, they would reckon it was more than enough. A baleful moan of stressed metals emanated from the Saucerer, what remained of the internal structure bending and breaking under the stress, the crippled behemoth folding nearly in half as it plummeted to the earth, grinding a short distance before halting entirely. Black smoke billowed from every seam, secondary blasts sending parts of the ship miles away in various directions.

Bill felt his mouth move as he gave the order for any pilots near the Saucerer to get clear, but didn't feel like he was actually there giving the orders. He felt sluggish and exhausted. It didn't matter at this point. Bill watched as four blue streaks ended the Battle of Katina, firing the last Nova bomb in anger in Katina airspace. His pursuers broke off immediately after their command vessel went down. In a sign of final defiance, the energy gathered by the main focusing array tore free in every direction at once, the shockwave tossing dirt and debris in every direction, leaving a burning crater as a marker to what had transpired here.

_ Hell of a day to be a fighter pilot._

The next few minutes were filled with the joyous uproar from his surviving people. The Venomian fighters still in the theater immediately found space-bound vectors and took them away from the potentially vengeful Cornerians. Bill wasn't feeling particularly vengeful at this point. He quietly put out a Search and Rescue request for where he'd seen Miyu go down, not wanting to dampen the celebratory mood while he fought for a personal victory. He counted sixteen of his people still flying, other than himself. If this was victory, Bill decided that losing wasn't much worse.

ALPHA THREE

Meanwhile, Falco Lombardi peeled away from a fleeing pair of Venomians, who were the last of a small wing he's personally pursued into the upper atmosphere. _Run, losers. Somebody has to tell the story about the big bad Cornerians and their eeeeeeevil space ships._ Fox would probably reprimand him for sure, but what the hell. They were mercs, and they were paid to kill these assholes, right? Seriously, this was even a contract he could relish taking part in! Andross and his boys threw the first stone, as it were. Now they got theirs.

"Miyu! Miyu! You see that? That's flying!" Falco exulted, thumping his chest proudly. He counted his kills in his head, at least thirty alone over New Prospect, by his reckoning, that he could remember. Honestly, it may have been more or less. He didn't care, they won. Star Fox came, saw, and conquered, once more. THIS was how should have always been, screw the Cornerian brass he'd bumped heads with in the past. "Hey, Miyu!" Funny thing about that kitten, she was good, almost too good for these aviators. This was something he'd never forgive McCloud for. She and another chick wanted in the team at some point, damn, YEARS ago it seemed. Falco approved. Of course he'd approve. Anything to get one over on Pogue McCloud Junior, right? That's probably how he'd seen it.

"Should be wearing our colors, Miyu." Falco said, putting on a smirk for theatrics.

Funny. No response on the tightbeam.

Where was that dumb cat? Not that he really cared. Lombardi had 'em lining up from Corneria to Venom, so his self made legend said. Probably got her sorry-

Oh hell, he was tuning into an official frequency. _Not worried. Not worried._

"Ah, Bulldog Lead," He paused awkwardly here. That was her callsign at the moment, right? "You can come out now, we made the scary Venomians go away." He thought that sounded good. That oughta impress McCloud. Falco Lombardi, not treading the toes of the government lapdogs since…about two minutes ago.

"Alpha Three, Husky Lead."

"Grey, old sod, how ya been? Looks like even you made it."

"Alpha-"

"Mind telling me where-"

"She tuned out, Alpha Three." Bill said evenly. "SAR is up now."

"What?" Falco managed.

"Get off this channel, Alpha Three. You are not authorized for the main communications channel. Single craft tight-beam only."

"I'm not hearing you right." Falco said.

"Repeat: Alpha Three, Unit Designation Star Fox. You. Are. Not. Authorized. See Cornerian Military Communications Protocol-"

"I. Am. Not. Hearing. You." Falco stated, flipping the communications display where that stupid freakin' mutt had to be, and found himself staring at Fox McCloud.

"What in the hell is wrong with you?" Fox started.

"Fox, don't even give me this right now."

"She's MIA!"

"She's my EX!"

"We aren't military! You know the rules, you know how this works! Why are you TRYING TO PICK A FIGHT WITH A RANKING OFFICER OVER AN OPEN COMMUNICATIONS FREQUENCY? OVER ONE OF 'YOUR' WOMEN?"

"ARE YOU SERIOUSLY SAYING THIS?" Falco shouted now. "THAT KID SHOULDA BEEN FLYING WITH US. YOU KNOW IT. I KNOW IT."

"FALCO. Not. Now. Help them find her, or what's left of her. For God's sake." Fox, shut down the link. Falco found himself punching the transmit button, eager to get in the last word, punching it into uselessness when he saw that Fox had remotely cut his links to ever other fighter in the area. No doubt giving him fifteen minutes in the corner. Asshole.

He fumed for a few minutes more, then fell into formation with Slippy, who was also out looking for the downed Bulldog Lead. The amphiboid glanced at the bird with a sympathetic frown. Falco leered.

HUSKY LEAD

An hour had passed since the battle over New Prospect ended. Bill, as well as a few of his squadron still flew over the battleground, looking for survivors on both sides. He couldn't find Bulldog Leader. He found his gaze occasionally locking on to Alpha Three of Star Fox.

Chided himself for being unprofessional. He wondered if he would ever truly get being squadron leader down right.

"Lombardi." _Why am I trying this?_

"Screw you."

"What was she to you?"

"Just another cat, that what you wanna hear?" Bill bristled slightly at that.

"That all?"

"No different from you, pal. I coulda been like her, and I could be crater meat right now, if I listened to people like you. She shoulda been with us. You're a robot, Grey."

"Am I?"

"If it weren't fer people like you, she'd be up here, laughing at your ass for being such a goddamned robot."

"She did her job. She didn't sign up because people like me said so. She did it for herself. This place is still standing because we did our jobs."

"I ain't like you, and that's why I'll live to the end of this stinkin' war, and you'll go off and be a robot into some 'roid in the vac."

"I did absolutely everything I could! This isn't my fault!" Bill almost shouted.

"Sure it ain't! Life sucks, that's why we got helmets, right Commander? Even Fox knows when to shut the hell up, for gods-" The link went dead at that moment.

Nope, he wasn't getting it right anytime soon. Bill returned his gaze back to the sensors display. The SAR birds began circling over an area about two clicks east of the crash site of the Saucerer. They found another downed Kukri, no recognizable markings visible. Bill wouldn't return to New Prospect, nor would SAR, his volunteers, or Star Fox, for another four hours. What was left of his squadron, what was left of the ground defense, the command staff at the HQ, all remained on vigil.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: Aaaaaaaand DONE with this chapter. Finally. Wow. I am somewhat embarrassed this little writing took as long as it did. Blame PSU. And my recently reacquired PSP. And my Smash Bros habit (Peach, yo). And work. And school.

I intend to use the plot string with Falco, Miyu, and well, Falco being essentially the furry (feathered?) version of Roy Fokker, IMO. Probably a prequel to this, if I ever get this wrapped up. As usual, R+R please! I got a very nice reminder from another user that got my ass back on track for this, so I do appreciate the criticisms and compliments! I hope you all get a kick out of this.

EDITS: I cleaned up a few squadron designations and a couple obvious errors that I saw.


	5. What Remains

Lord, guard and guide the men who fly  
Through the great spaces in the sky.  
Be with them always in the air,  
In darkening storms or sunlight fair;  
Oh, hear us when we lift our prayer,  
For those in peril in the air!

- Mary C.D. Hamilton, 1915

OFFICER'S QUARTERS  
NEW PROSPECT, KATINA  
GST 03122216, 0530 HOURS

_ To Mr. and Mrs. Lynxara,_

_ Though you may have already received the official notice, I have taken personal responsibility as the commanding officer of the aerospace group assigned to New Prospect, Katina, to inform you that Captain Miyu Lynxara was killed in action, on the 11__th__ of the third standard month, Galactic Calendar year 2866, Lylatian Year 2216. With all my heart, I share in your grief in these dark times, knowing that you have laid down a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom that no parent ever wishes to make, that no one would ask of their own flesh and blood. Her death was one of many under my direct command in the defense of New Prospect and her civilian population. Without Captain Lynxara in the air on that day, the outcome of the battle may have very well been different. Her piloting was exemplary, as an officer, her missing presence will affect the reorganization of the defense forces in and around the Katina system. As a person, Miyu will be missed by every man and woman who had the distinct pleasure of knowing your daughter in and out of combat. There are no words to truly describe her actions, but they were in the best interests and traditions of the Cornerian Aerospace Forces, in defense of those who cannot fend for themselves in the face of darkness._

_ Captain Lynxara will receive a burial with full military honors on a date you specify. Her personal effects will be arriving as soon as they are able, though at this time, Venomian presence on and around Zoness will make this difficult. I have put in a request that her sacrifice be honored alongside of her brothers and sisters at arms with the Legion of Distinguished Valor for their actions, and with hope, they will all receive this honor, though, no doubt this will be small, if insignificant consolation for your loss._

_ With regards,  
Captain Bill Grey_

Bill blinked at the clock next to his datapad. Zero five thirty in the morning. He stared back at the notification on the display, saved and completed, so he had decided. He'd sat and stared at this for hours and still didn't quite feel he could muster up the strength to press the 'Send' button on the display that would get the message to Zoness. To Miyu's family. He sipped at a cup of coffee, and looked at a second letter, this one to Cornerian GHQ at the capital, with his request for the LDV for these pilots that had fought here this past week. Part of him felt a great degree of guilt for this. So many had already died in every theater of the war, what made the boys and girls of Katina so special they deserved an award? What had _he_ done? He merely was lucky. Miyu could have been the one sending this to his father this very moment. Skill was only a small part of it. Luck, something that everyone had and didn't have all at once, that was the key factor.

It was his job as the commanding officer to fix that, wasn't it? Reduce luck's effect on the whole equation, yes?

What had gone wrong?

He was now a CAG without an aerospace group. At best, he'd be reshuffled into one the depleted squadron in the arriving Second Fleet with the rest of the survivors, a new Aerospace Group would replace the four shattered wings that once held the skies here. At worst, the colors for the 104th, 25th, 87th, and the 242nd would be officially disbanded, and the survivors would be given administrative leave to the GHQ for an inquiry regarding the 'incident', as it would no doubt be described, and they'd be given sick leave after that. Their war would effectively be over, and that this was a possibility hurt as bad as the notification sitting unsent to Mr. and Mrs. Lynxara. The enormity of what he'd done since landing from the climatic battle for New Prospect hit him right then. One hundred and twenty pilots were assigned here at the beginning of the week. Of them, eighteen remained, one of which would most likely never fly for the military again, such was her physical state. According to everything he'd ever learned at flight school, and later in command school, nothing had gone according to simulation, nothing worked as intended. Despite the outcome, this could be classified as a military disaster. So he sat, and brooded, his coffee and anger sustaining him through his physical exhaustion.

He'd sent out one hundred and one of these letters, hacking away at his data pad like a demon possessed. He was the Captain of the Air Group. They were his people, not merely those of the 104th, but all of them from every wing. The last of these notices mocked him now.

_ Robot, huh?_ He was truly upset with the bird for saying that to him, but hadn't shown the full extent of it then, and likely never would. This was how he had been since the academy. He followed orders, followed a book to the letter. He took home a six-figure income, albeit at the low end of the spectrum, every year, all in the savings. His only family was his father, though at one point, Fox McCloud might have been a brother. The man was different from the academy days, though, and somehow this burned him. Four people ended what a hundred and twenty could only manage to stall. After landing, he spoke with Fox briefly. His confidence and vigor was just short of being a slap to Bill's face, though he maintained his cool then, and forever. Jealousy was an entirely acceptable feeling to have, but never to show.

Bill Grey was a professional pilot for the Cornerian Aerospace Forces. His pride, his being rested on that very professionalism, and resolving that upon himself, Bill's face curled into a slight frown for the briefest of moments before tapping the send key on his data pad. The messages indicated this, and he shut down the word processor program with another tap.

A subtle knock on his door startled him somewhat. Wiping away tiredness from his face, Bill waited a moment before responding.

"It's open."

"Grey. You're not asleep." Fox McCloud stood at the other side of the open doorway. He took a look around, seeing the still active datapad. "Paperwork? Get some sleep, you stupid mutt, you're as tired as any of us."

"They were my people, McCloud." Bill snapped immediately. "Sorry. You're right, I am pretty tired." Fox grinned at this, then frowned, his nose twitching, scrunching with displeasure.

"That coffee I smell?"

"Yeah."

"Smells as bad as ever. That's one thing you always got wrong at the academy."

"The good old days, right?" Bill's gaze traveled to an old photo of his graduation. Silence hung in the air for several long minutes before he spoke again. "How are the Arwings?"

"How are you?" Fox countered.

"Fine." Bill took another sip. McCloud sighed.

"I wish we'd gotten here sooner." Fox said. "We've been from Corneria to the Asteroid Field to Fichina to Sector Y over the last week, and as much as Pepper's been feeding us intel on the situation, we were never aware of how bad it had gotten here."

"Just the way it is Fox." Bill said quietly. "How's Lombardi taking it?"

"About as well as you are. He didn't mean what he said to you, by the way."

"Running PR for your people, eh?" Bill tipped the mug at him. "Fox, I gotta ask you."

"Well, I _am_ here to talk."

"Did we do alright?"

"I think you did what you could under the circumstances." Fox picked up the old graduation picture, wiping it free of dust it had collected with his fingers. "You always played the laid back guy, but you always set yourself to a higher standard than most, Bill. I don't know what you expected of yourself this week, but you got screwed by circumstance."

"It's really as simple as that?" Bill half-smiled. "Apparently you almost had Miyu on your team. Was she any different when you met her?"

"Aside from being an item with Falco for about a month before I decided to not let her on the team, she was a stubborn, loudmouthed kitten, for sure. She was an excellent pilot, but everyone in the military has to be a passable pilot at least. I suppose it's kinda cold of me to say this, but she was just another aviator to me, Bill. Star Fox isn't a social club for everyone and anyone who can put a fighter through its paces. It's a family."

"She never talked to me about her run in with you guys, but I can understand where her mentality about her people came from then. I understand it." The hound sounded bitter. "My 'family' is practically dead."

"It's still there, Bill."

"The stink of it? We got lucky! You know it. If it weren't for _you_, I'd be paste on the plains out there, and this base would be a crater. It ain't fair, Fox. We shoulda had those Arwings."

"Bill, these things are experi-"

"Don't say it. We all saw the special pet project in action today. C'mon Fox, what's the deal? Why did GHQ give a merc team flippin' _Arwings_ and not even consider updating a _fifteen year old design to at least come close? _The Book, the instructors, _noone ever said that our purpose was to go out and get killed while we waited for reinforcements that might not ever get here!_"

"I'm not GHQ Bill." Fox reminded the CAG.

"It just doesn't sit well with me, man!" With one swipe, Bill knocked his half full coffee mug off the desk and into a wall. The mug itself was a hybrid ceramoplast material, and didn't suffer a spot of damage. The coffee splattered across the wall, almost as if a gunshot wound had been received near there, running down slowly to the floor.

"That's some thick coffee, Captain." Fox cracked.

"Very funny." Realizing he was standing with a fist clenched, ready to loosen a few vulpine teeth, Bill breathed in deeply, sighed, and sat back down, defeated. "I guess I'm just a bit upset to see my career turn into a slow motion trainwreck right in front of me. I'm the CAG. These were my people, that's all there is to it."

"C'mon, you stupid ass. You think Cornerian GHQ has the time to take some pilots and ask them 'Hurrr, fighting superior numbers sucks, confirm or deny'? After Dad bought it, you told me to stop being a victim and start ass kicking, and I'm telling you the same thing." Fox jabbed a thumb skyward. "There's still a war on. Nobody expected there to be so many casualties in the first week of the fighting, and it's only going to get worse before it gets better. You can't lose your edge now. Stay ready for a fight, because it is coming."

Bill opened his mouth to reply, but stopped.

"Bill, I know you think it's bad here, but I was there when Cornerian Army units started the push back into the capital. We're talking entire air wings with one hundred percent casualties, and they still haven't finalized the death toll for both sides of the ground fighting. The only reason I didn't lose any of my people is that we weren't a part of the main attack. We slipped into through a backdoor, so to speak. That's how it's been for us all week. We've been lucky. But we're mercs, Bill, and if the money's good enough, we'd throw ourselves into the grinder. Don't beat yourself up for following orders, for losing so many kids. In the end, there are still survivors, and you still have a base to call your home. Before this thing is over, a lot of people aren't gonna have a chance to even make it home, if there still is one."

"Fox, I didn't become a CAG so I could let luck command my people."

"Luck didn't command or kill your people, Bill. Venomians did." Fox stood up to leave. "I've got to run, Captain. Pepper wanted us on Aquas yesterday. Some sort of recon job." Fox held out a hand.

"…I'll see you around." Bill said quietly, shaking Fox's proffered hand rather weakly. The vulpine took another look at the CAG of the New Prospect Aerospace Defense Group, shook his head sadly, and walked out of the room.

Bill continued to stare at his graduation photo. When his datapad began to ring insistently for his attention, he hadn't known how much time had passed. Feeling groggy, he managed to miss the 'Check Inbox' key three times before the window he desired opened up.

CORNERIAN AEROSPACE FORCE  
FROM: LIEUTENANT GENERAL SLOAN YORKSHIRE, GHQ CORNERIA CITY  
TO: CAPTAIN WILLIAM GREY, CAG NEW PROSPECT ADG, KATINA  
RE: PERSONNEL REASSIGNMENT  
TEXT TO FOLLOW IS CLASSIFIED LEVEL RHO UNDER CORNERIAN SECURE MILITARY COMMUNICATIONS ACT  
SECTION V IN MILITARY STANDARD OPERATING RPOCEDURE MANUAL PAGE XXIX SECTION II.

"Well now." Bill yawned through his curiosity at the name he saw on the notice, punching his ID codes into the pad for the rest of the message. Sloan Yorkshire was the hound underneath General Pepper at GHQ, and head of the Orbital Defense Fleet around Corneria herself, the largest defensive cordon in the known galaxy, save for what lay around Venom. At least, it had been an impressive display on paper. The outcome of the Battle of Corneria would have been much different had the static defenses around the world been as effective as planners had predicted. The Lieutenant General was probably undergoing his own personal hell of would haves and should haves, like any commander who'd sent his men and women to die. It was to Bill's surprise that a voice accompanied the text, sounding as tired and beaten as he felt.

_ Captain Grey,_

_ No doubt you are aware first hand of the results of the fighting this week. GHQ has severely underestimated the strength and size of the Venomian forces, which has cost us the lives of many fine men and women across the Lylat system. Fortunately, we're pushing back, but we're scrambling to fill the holes in our rosters across the system. I'm sending this out to you personally because we're getting in the battle reports from Katina from the New Prospect CIC. As the man analyzing what I've seen, I want to personally commend you and your people for your efforts. You did better than we expect under those odds. Unfortunately, I cannot spare any further personnel and equipment to replenish you at New Prospect at this time. The truth is, we don't have enough active pilots left to maintain four wings in an Air Group, and so we are switching to three wings per group as part of an administrative reshuffle that's going down right now. The Aerospace Fighter Wings in the Cornerian Forces have suffered over thirty percent casualties in the last standard week, well over our estimates from three years ago for such a scenario. You're probably wondering why I am directing this to you specifically. It's quite simple._

_ As of this moment, you are no longer the CAG of New Prospect ADG._

"Guess I saw that coming." Bill scratched the back of his head. "Any other good news?"

_ Within the space of a week, we very nearly lost Corneria to Andross' forces, gained it back, and have managed to bring this to a stalemate. With pockets of resistance being eliminated from the asteroid field, and Fichina being secured as we speak, we're in position to hit back from three fronts. Which is where the reason I'm mailing you comes in. You and the survivors under your command will be reintegrated into the Second Fleet, currently gathering around Katina, reforming the 104__th__ Wardog squadron as part of the 15__th__ Aerospace Wing under command of Major Fay Caniche, based on the CSC Southern Cross. You will find her to be a competent commanding officer, one worthy of your talents. I've spoken to your Commander Styles, expect a briefing regarding the situation soon. There is one last thing to discuss in regards to this letter._

_ I feel I owe you, and the men and women under your command an apology. As the General who supervised the Naval Review two years ago, I was instrumental in shutting down funding for the deployment of the SFX Arwing as the fighter to replace the Kukri on a broader scale, and held back construction of the newly announced Physalis class space carrier, in opposition to the letters from hundreds of commanding officers of the fleet. I recall your letter specifically, Captain Grey. Hence why I respond to it now._

_ We live, or lived in an age of peace. So I had believed, and have been proven wrong. I did not mean to leave our forces under equipped or under trained. I truly believed we could live without weapons such as those. I even opposed the deployment of Nova Warheads. True, the threat from Venom was present since the banishment of Andross, but I had more faith that it would never come to this. You have spent a week behind enemy lines before receiving assistance. You fought a foe that outnumbered you to a degree unacceptable to my contemporaries, or myself, and sustained losses that can only be considered near disaster. That you survived is worthy of praise, I expected no less of a Yorkshire._

_ As a General of the Cornerian Military, I refused to listen to those under my command, and so, have let my people suffer for it. Captain, please accept my apologies. What happened on Katina, what happened on Corneria is indeed greatly my responsibility as a General. As a father, I nearly failed my only son._

_ I should like to see you once again, after this campaign. Best of luck, and fight well._

_ Respectfully,  
Dad _

Bill stared at the letter a moment longer, before shutting down the datapad. Fox was right. The fight was still going on, and there was no time to second-guess his every move. There was no time to dwell on Miyu Lynx, or the other one hundred and one pilots who died for Lylat at his orders. Not until it was over, if it would ever be over. Settling in his seat, Bill crossed his arms. He was asleep within another minute.

NEW PROSPECT, KATINA  
GST 03122216, 1800 HOURS

The service in memory of the fallen soldiers and pilots of New Prospect had been a simple and shortened affair. Commander Styles had given a respectable speech to mark the occasion, his voice as even as he could manage as he recanted the glory of the efforts represented by the small plaque before them all, followed by a moment of silence. A formation of Marines marched with precision to a small memorial set just outside of the main entrance to the New Prospect Command Center at the ground level, lighting a single flame that would continue to burn as long as Corneria held sovereignty on this world.

"PRE-seeeeeeeeeeeent, ARMS." Barked the Sergeant leading the small parade, still sporting stitches and bandages that clung to his grey fur, blood still evident here and there along his cheeks, walking with a noticeable limp. With robotic precision, the thirty Marines snapped the rifles into position.

"AIM." A second ripple of sound echoed across the silent courtyard, thick boot heels clacking on the deck, gloved hands slapping on the rifles, relics of an era where bolt-action projectile weapons ruled the battlefields of Corneria. Thirty rifles pointed to the sky. At this moment, every single man and woman surrounding the memorial who was still able to come to attention did so, right arms snapping up into crisp salutes. Holding the salutes, the gathered waited, still as statues, eyes unblinking.

"FIRE." The thirty rifles, aimed at the stars above now patrolled by the Second Fleet were one, a cannon shot directed at the sky. The empty casings from the shot fell to the ground as a brief rain ringing in the air. The echo faded, and there was silence once more.

"RIGHT SHOUL-DER, ARMS."

_Clack. Clack. Clack._

The Sergeant marched before the formation, meeting the lead Marine in the first column face to face. The Marine presented his rifle to the Sergeant, who immediately grabbed the weapon, clearing it, before handing it back to the Marine, who shouldered the weapon immediately. The Sergeant took three measured steps back, and the Marine followed. Coming to a halt before his Sergeant, the Marine spoke.

"Sergeant, request permission to relieve the current guard."

"As of 1808 hours Standard Cornerian Time, Sergeant Banks, Ray reports this post to be secure. Maintain vigilance, Corporal."

"Aye Sergeant." A curt nod was exchanged between the two men, and with that, the Corporal spun halfway to his left to march around the Sergeant, and took up his post before the flame, saluting it. With that, the Marine began his patrol, eyes forward, piercing through the gathered with some sort of barely contained ferocity. As one, the rest ended their salute, arms brought swiftly down to their sides. That was it.

_ See you around, Miyu._ With that thought, Bill Grey shoved the memory of the cat into a dark recess of his mind, and there it would stay, until he had time once more to remember her, drink to her, and cry for her. He was going to be a part of a new unit, as such he would have a new group of people to worry about. He could not, he _would_ not allow this of affect or endanger them. Such was his duty. His eyes briefly caught a glimpse of Denise Saru, wheelchair bound, potentially for life, ears drooped down to the sides, her face a mask of impassiveness. That almost did it. Bill blinked rapidly, taking one shaky breath. _Damn._

"Dismissed." Styles announced. "The New Prospect Air Defense Group is to report to Briefing Room One in thirty minutes." With that, the procession broke apart, people gathering quickly into their respective groups, milling about and away. It wasn't long before the courtyard was abandoned, save for the Corporal, who marched around the flame, alone for the next six hours before the next. And the next after that, guarding what remained of the fallen here.

Author's Note: And another one down. Something I have noticed about war stories in general is the aftermath is rarely looked at, or only slightly mentioned. People die, and everyone moves on fairly quickly. In reality, this is true to an extent. Soldiers cannot afford to dwell on loss during combat, they can't let it rule their actions. Soldiering is a profession like and unlike any other. I wrote this chapter because one thing I always will respect the armed forces for is the level of commitment they hold to their own, living or dead, something that seemingly is rarely portrayed. (Maybe I'm not looking hard enough?)

Anyhoo, hope you all find this a decent addition!


	6. Reassigned, Reaffirmed

"In what is considered to be the largest offensive operation planned by the Cornerian Military, the Reclamation of Macbeth was the third bloodiest battle of the One Month War. The Venomian strategy over Macbeth is argued to be one of the deciding factors of the War, costing them an enormous resource base due to the efforts of Team StarFox, and literally after three days of further combat, the planet. Around the world were the staggered defensive lines that were similar to 'Area 6', recently declassified records stated that over two hundred Umbra-Class defense satellites were deployed around Macbeth, in addition to the Fifth Vangaurd. The Venomian ground presence had been outnumbered by Cornerian forces three to one in manpower, nowhere near the same level of combat power that was being displayed in the vacuum. The real battle occurred in space, the ground forces surrendering within hours of initial fighting when the Fifth Vangaurd finally disengaged the Cornerian Macbeth Expeditionary Fleet after three days of fighting. The indiscriminate use of nuclear and nova weaponry decimating entire carrier groups on both sides destroyed a series a space habitats in Macbeth's First Lagrange point, which to this day Venom's government demands reparations for, citing the civilians lost on board the colonies. Corneria's Central Authority labels the claim as misinformation, claiming the space habitats had been converted to anti-ship weaponry, and had been used as such to great effect. In the end, the operation was successful in drawing forces away from both Zoness and Titania, forcing Venomian admirals to pull back the bulk of their remaining military strength to the Sector X region in a series of phased withdrawals towards Venom."

-_Officer Candidate Battle Analysis Textbook, 43__rd__ Edition_,_ Chapter 10 'Planetary Seige Warfare: Tactics, Weapons, and Evolutions Throughout Military History'_

KATINA ORBIT, CSC_ Southern Cross_

GST 03122216, 1900 HOURS

She would have been a model, if life hadn't been what it had been for Major Fay 'Lady' Caniche. She walked the corridors with the unconscious dignity and grace of what she had aspired to be as a little pup, oftentimes catching the eyes of fresh arrivals to the CSC _Southern Cross_. Her rank insignia was more than enough to convince most would be Casanovas to back off with all due haste. Her manner of speech would convince the more persistent types that she, in fact, Ran Shit for the 15thAerospace Wing, and no, she would never have the time for you. She'd earned another callsign from those she rubbed the wrong way, something would probably not call a Lady. The thought of that particular name cracked a smile in her otherwise cool expression. She walked briskly down an access corridor in silence, hurrying to meet the men who were earning a reputation among the Cornerian Aerospace Forces as living legends, if the reports from Katina were to be believed. Fay had said she would need to see the gun camera footage herself to swallow the scuttlebutt without protest, and of course, it had been provided. She, like many others of this generation of Cornerian defenders, had fought the occasional pirate ship here and there, did the weekly, sometimes yearly scramble contests that promoted readiness and competition among squadrons. Like so many others, the last week's series of debacles had been her first taste of actual, honest to goodness all out warfare. She was tired, sore from daily eighteen hour up times, over half of which spent spent in the cockpit of a Kukri, and maybe sore because at age thirty two, she wasn't quite as young as she had been when she'd first gotten her commission.

Legends did not have the luxury of existing in her world, as far as she was concerned.

The Major's wing had been lucky, having retained a good eighty percent of their original roster by the end of the first week, more than many wings could say. The 15th had just come from a three day op in the asteroid belt, hunting down sapper units that might have been using the larger rocks as forward strike bases. The media was all over Star Fox being the first Cornerian force to punch through the field, allowing a Cornerian battlegroup to astronavigate 'over' the field relatively unmolested to Fichina, but the 15th had been doing the dirty work in clean up duty. While not exactly as impressive as a mere four craft element that Star Fox fielded, the 15th could claim over three hundred fighters and at least seven of the 'Rock Crusher' stealth corvette's that Venom had snuck into the field.

Three hundred. By the maker. It struck Fay right then just how bad the odds were for a Venomian pilot. To the people back home, it certainly looked unfair for the Cornerian forces, it was just too obvious how many ships the Lizards sent into each fight. Corneria City residents would be picking up the pieces of Venomian fighters and armor and bodies for a much longer time after they finished the clean up of Cornerian material and manpower. But Fay was more than convinced after being on the line herself, after ordering her people into the thick of it, she was convinced that they were going to win. The big factor would be for how long and how many bodies Venom was willing to expend to drag this thing out in hopes of keeping some of the territory they had rapidly gained. With luck, not many more, and for not much longer.

She thought, for a moment, about the families of the enemy, and felt a little worse still. Fay didn't hate Lizards in general. In fact, before this mess started, some of the best technicians she knew were actual immigrants from Venom. Even now, a very small number of Venomians served on Cornerian ships, _against their own people_, while viewed with heavy suspicion. There had been no recorded instances of them being double agents, but in secret briefings and messages passed to 'warm-blood' commanders throughout the Cornerian forces, if you had a scaly in your crew, you were to be cautious, but make use of their 'services' as much as you were willing to trust them.

Three hundred kills for a wing of one hundred and twenty pilots, three squadrons of forty thanks to the current reshuffle. Still, a ridiculous number of kills for so few losses comparatively. By the book, there were over thirty 'Aces' in her whole wing, a number of those making Ace many times over; five kills on hostile targets, usually pirates, made an Ace during peace time. Three hundred kills for her wing alone, something closer to a thousand for the combined fighter compliment from this single space carrier alone, a mere three hundred and sixty pilots.

Just how many paper thin hulls would get filled with some poor cold bloods with nothing to lose and everything to gain? How many experimental weapons could Venom throw at the numerically disadvantaged Cornerian military? Where was their breaking point? They couldn't keep this up for too long. They just couldn't.

Could they?

She found herself in front the briefing room where her new arrivals, her 'legends' awaited. Two days from today, they all had Macbeth and the massive Venomian occupational fleet waiting. It'd get answered then.

-

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." Fay spoke with measured, clipped tones, taking in the new arrivals from Katina. Her eyes darted about, looking for a certain four. "Are we all present and accounted for?"

"Yes Major." This was their Captain. Apparently the former CAG of the New Prospect ADG. "If you're looking for the Miracle Workers, they're not joining us. Contractual obligations, you understand." Grey, W. read his name patch. He, like everyone else in the room, did not smile one bit at his dig on Star Fox. _About as bad as I expected_ Fay thought to herself. She'd been given the short version before coming up to the BR. She found that each man and woman there had nearly the same expression, others more...blank then the rest. The worst of them was Grey himself. He looked as though he'd not slept at all after his fight over New P, not looking at her so much as through her. Really, he'd earned the right. Who the hell was she, some pretty looking mutt that out ranked him, addressing him like he was already one of hers.

_Damn._ She felt a sudden chill. These people shouldn't even have been sent here, not so soon after what they had gone through. They should be taking some form of R and R, anything to get away from the front.

"Ma'am. Our orders." Bill spoke. His voice was even, betraying nothing, but she could see his eyes narrowed. She coughed.

"Of course. First of all, welcome aboard the _Southern Cross_, and welcome to the 15th Aerospace Wing. You are all going to be under my direct command in the 131st Aerospace Superiority Squadron, Wolfpack, and I will also be your new CAG. William Grey, you will be replacing my XO for the duration."

"Ma'am." He saluted before taking his seat. She made eye contact with him, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I'm sure you've all been given the initial info dumps from GHQ regarding the upcoming operations we're moving in for over and on Macbeth. The reality is, we think the Venomians are actually abandoning a number of major territorial gains in response to their defeats throughout the Lylat system. It's no secret that losses for both sides have been well beyond what we predicted in such a scenario, but Cornerian Aerospace pilots have more than proven their mettle this last week. The average kill ratio is six to one, scary as that may sound." She pressed a button, and an overhead view of the Lylat System hummed to life. "With Corneria, Sector Y, and the asteroid field now considered under Cornerian control, and Fichina soon to follow, our efforts are to focus on the reclamation of Macbeth. This operation will be a multi-pronged offensive into Venomian territory in an effort to weaken the newly constructed orbital defense network they have around the immediate vicinity of the planet. As we are all aware, Macbeth is the heart of Cornerian military and civilian industry, with a nearly abnormal amount of material resources that Corneria and now Venom use to supply their fighting strength. They've only had the place for a week, and have already managed to get mass production facilities up and running. Macbeth is possibly the best defended target we could be facing down at this time, short of bypassing it and going through the Sector Z corridor through Venom's Area 6. In order to improve our chances around the the Macbeth sphere of influence, the Cornerian First Fleet will split into three elements, designed to pull reinforcements from both Area 6 and Macbeth into battles away from Macbeth to other key military locations. There is a ship construction array that gated into the Sector X nebula under heavy escort of the Venom Second Vangaurd before it was split into a larger and smaller force. The larger force is now over Macbeth, while the much smaller element remains around the array. The 15th Aerospace Wing will be a part of the operation to eliminate the array, as well as any Venomian vessels and storage facilities around the array. This operation will commence in concert with the second element of the First Fleet, who will engage the Venomian forces around Titania in an extended battle. The third element will a engage battlegroup attached to the Venomian First Vanguard at Zoness."

"Just one Fleet is going to be hitting three targets?" someone asked.

"Intelligence has evidence to indicate that the bulk of Venom's strength is centered on holding down Macbeth and the Venom sphere of influence. Thats what I was briefed on." Fay sighed. "I refuse to blow sunshine up your asses, I also have my doubts about what Intelligence has to say on anything after this last week. But the evidence is tactically and strategically sound. Remember, the goal is to engage the enemy in battles that will force them to abandon our real targets to reinforce other important locations. Venom has had, in my estimation, twenty years to build this up. We are _beating_ twenty years of preparation, manpower, and materials. They cannot be everywhere at once, but they also cannot afford to give us direct corridors to Venom. They will move to defend these targets. They don't have a choice." Fay shut down the holoprojection, staring out at the survivors of the 104th and knowing that what they were seeing and hearing weren't rationalizations, numbers, diagrams. When the arrows pointing at different targets were running across the air minutes before, they didn't see simple icons, they saw themselves, they saw friends, wingmen, actual people. "Dismissed. Get some rest for the evening, and get settled in to your new quarters. Tomorrow we'll start running simulations on our part in the op. Captain Gray, I would like to speak with you in my office."

"Aye, ma'am." He stood, almost mechanically, and followed his people, his remaining people, out without so much as a nod of acknowledgment.

That was going to have to change.

-

Fay sat at her desk, looking across it directly into William Gray's eyes the moment he walked in.

"As ordered, Major." Sharp salute.

"Sit." She gestured to the seat across from hers. "I suppose this...act of yours is over your current status, Captain?"

"Ma'am, I was led to understand that the 104th would remain as a unit on board the _Southern Cross._"

"With the current administrative reshuffle throughout the Fleet, that simply is not a possibility." She leaned forward over the desk, allowing an edge to slip into her voice. "You don't have to like it, Captain. You only have to accept it."

"You're going to break up a good team throughout a whole wing, ma'am. Splitting up pilots that have flown and fought together not just this last week, but for years." Bill said quietly. "New Prospect ADG consisted of a hundred and twenty good men and women. Of them, eighteen are still combat capable. We're now here."

"Is there a point to this, Captain?" Fay asked, brushing away dust that had gathered on her desk. "Is this some sort of elaborate plea to get your command back?"

William Gray fought the urge to strike his new commanding officer.

"Captain, I read the report. Thoroughly. I watched more gun-cam footage of a bad situation last night than I care to witness. You have had a rough go at it." She stood up suddenly, slamming both fists into her desk. "You no longer have a command. You no longer are a part of New Prospect Air Defense Group. You are the Executive Officer of the 131st Wolfpack. This means, to put it in a language you might be receptive to, I am your CO and I am also the CAG. I rule you. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes _ma'am._ You do _not_ pull this shit with me. You do not _fuck with me in front of your little social club._" Fay was shouting now. "_You will not continue, and I will not accept, your petulant Academy student bullshit._" They exchanged a leer. "Your 'last stand' in the sunset of Katina has made the rounds already, Captain Gray, and while it might be impressive, I assure you, you do not carry yourself with the _dignity_ I expected of a man who commanded a team that refused to roll over and die. A family!"

"Ma'am. With all do respect, you can go straight to hell!" Bill snarled. "You don't know a goddamn thing about what happened down there!"

"Of course not. I was not there." With that, Fay was already around the desk, picking up the surprised captain by his flight suit collar out of the chair, knocking it aside violently, and slammed him against the door to her office. "I will never know what it was like. Nor do I wish to know, if I have my way, I will never be cut off from any support beyond four mercenaries in fighters WE should have, but you had better not kid yourself into thinking I will allow you to take your 'family' and disrupt mine. Do. You. Get me? Do you understand? Between us and the big black is this bulkhead. You get that? There isn't a thing out there. It's not like Katina. It will never be like New Prospect. You left that place behind, and you damn well better leave your baggage there too. Are you hearing this?" For a long moment, they were nose to nose, smelling, tasting one another's breath.

"Yes ma'am." Bill said quietly, his eyes shutting tight.

"Captain." Fay whispered. "Tell me what you did down there. Talk about it." She let him go, walking back to her desk.

He hadn't moved.

"You may take a seat, Captain." She said. She turned back to face him, and saw the man had sunk down to his knees, his eyes tightly shut, trying, but failing to prevent the tears from falling. He sobbed bitterly, reaching up and pounding a fist into the deck.

-

"_In retrospect, my transfer to the Southern Cross was the least dignified and professional moment of my career. Fay could bring that out of anyone, so despite this having been so many years ago, I still blame her for making me lose my cool." The aging Gray laughed at the interviewer._

"_Was the command stripped of you for disciplinary purposes?"_

"_If you asked Major Caniche that question back then, she'd have told you that I had been made a CAG far too early, far too young. In a lot of ways, she was right. It was, more than anything, a criticism of the Cornerian people, rather than the people who had promoted, and given me my rank and duty station. More than ever, that year, recruitment for the armed forces was at an all time low. Retention rates of veteran enlisted or officer personnel was at a twenty year low. The only reason people like me could have been where I was in the first place was simply that we were all buying into the idea that perhaps we didn't need a military. Perhaps we could survive with the fewer and fewer dedicating themselves to war. I remember all of those protests. All of the reductions to the military budget. Nobody back home really understood why there was a military base on Katina, or stations on Fichina, or why Macbeth's ample resources were used to bolster a fleet we didn't have the people to properly staff. It all seemed like a colossal joke at our expense."_

"_Would New Prospect had gone down differently if the civilian voter population hadn't turned down the budget requests for the Arwing?"_

"_It's hard to say. At the time, everyone in the Aerospace Force was saying that line, again and again. It wasn't quite a mantra, but Star Fox continually reminded us of what we didn't have. Not out of malice, we all knew. But you couldn't help but look and feel some jealousy."_

"_Do you blame civilians for their own inaction that lead to the War, the casualty figures that defied all planning and preparation?"_

"_Too many factors, kiddo. What if we did have the Arwing program up and running, replacing those Kukri's just in time for the War to begin? What if? The same could be said from any Venomian pilot who survived the war. What if _they_ had the Wolfen II's Andross's development teams had loaned to Star Wolf over the course of the War? What if people stayed in the military beyond the four years of required service rather than use it as a free ride into an expensive college level education? What if people back then had more faith in what the military stood for? I could ask you more questions right now than you will for this whole interview." The aging pilot's head lowered, eyes locked onto a spot somewhere on the floor. "No...you can't pin it all on one thing or another. It's easy, far too easy, to sit down in a chair at home, and tell people how _you_ would have handled everything. We all like to play armchair general or president at one point or another. We all have such a limited view. So limited. Noone can probably fathom the entire chain of events that lead even to the simplest things. Because of that...I have let go of those days when I did sit bitterly in an office, thinking about what those sons of bitches back home did to us, their boys and girls, sent off to die with aging equipment and a prayer to the maker. And I was a terribly bitter man, then. But even at my worst days, especially after the fighting, I believed that there had been a reason for it all." Blinking and looking back up at the cameras, Bill's voice wavered. "Every death, every single one of them, in the end meant that we could sit here today. The harshest lesson to be learned about vigilance, but look how far we have come. We've come so damned far."_

_-_

They were both well into their fifth glass of wine. Fay questioned the wisdom of her decision to get the man a drink, but she'd never seen a man, a Captain in the Cornerian, act in the way William Gray had just done. He'd not allowed himself this moment that he had needed. She could tell that much. They had talked for almost three hours. Gray had been more than willing to talk, the words had been a torrent of rage and hurt and jealousy and helplessness. He had talked about his men and women. He talked about his now deceased XO. He told her how he had played the old man, how it hurt him to play that part while his people died all around him. How quickly things had changed from playing space police in the Katina system to near martyrdom. To his credit, he was not as ruined or broken as he believed he was. He was hurt, and vengeful, but he hadn't given up on life, or his duty. Inwardly, Fay was relieved.

"It's stupid, Fay." He mumbled into his glass. "We should have those planes." He'd said that at least six times.

"Very. For what it's worth, Gray, I think you did alright."

"Major. I am sorry. About the whole act." He sat back up in his chair, looking regretful.

"Trying to act tough when life gives a swift kick to the rear is a male thing." Fay offered a half smile. "Don't get any ideas, mister. You needed that, and I let it happen."

"Yeah yeah." He sighed. "It's surreal, ma'am."

"You're telling me, I get to have honest to goodness heroes in my Wing."

"Major. You really think I did alright?" He looked exhausted.

"You were absolutely right that I don't know how it was down there. It's different circumstances. We train, we train, and we train, but there are things you can't prepare for. You did what you could, from what I can tell." She yawned loudly. "I can't judge you, that isn't why I brought you in here. I just wanted to know if my new XO had his head screwed on straight."

"I'm not so sure anymore, Major."

"Honesty is always appreciated." She raised her glass towards his. "To those we leave behind, to those who we stay beside, and to the 15th." They clinked the glasses together, and finished what they had left.

"You a poet, Major?"

"My college degree was Language." They shared a laugh. "I hear any rumors about what we did in here that I don't like, I will end you. Clear?"

"Crystal, Major." William stood, somewhat awkwardly from his seat, and made his way to the exit. "See you at 0730."

"You mean today, right? It's ten past midnight."

"...Shit. G'night, Major."

"Get the hell out of my office, Captain, and welcome once again to my Wing." The Major waved at the man as he staggered out. Waiting a moment, she took a deep breath, and reached for a photo of her squadron, standing at attention in dress uniform. She ran a finger gently across one of the men, who had stood at her left the day the photo was taken. "He's no replacement. Younger than me. Stupider, definitely. He can't replace you. He'll have to do." She ran her fingers across others on the picture, her mouth opening as if to say something more to each one. She resigned herself to putting the photo back onto her desk, and pouring another glass. "One more for the lot of you. You left us too soon, you insufferable idiots."

_Damnit...I shouldn't be doing this._ Another look at the photo, and she stared at it for a long while before finally falling asleep.

Author's Note: Well. That certainly took a while. My apologies, I swear!

I don't play WoW anymore! Always a good thing! Life has been interesting, I will leave it at that.

So ah, go ahead and feel free to read and review. Let me know if you have any questions.


End file.
